


The Lonely Battle

by phisherqueen



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Abduction, Assault, Attempted Sexual Assault, Canon Divergence, F/M, Graphic Violence, Heavy Angst, Past Relationship(s), Post-Blood at the Wheel, Separation, THIS IS THE LAND OF NO HAPPINESS, Tragedy, Unresolved Conflict, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-11-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:55:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 145,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25128112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phisherqueen/pseuds/phisherqueen
Summary: Jack Robinson decided to give up Phryne Fisher after the Haynes case. Some things cannot be undone. Is he ready to live with what comes with this decision?⚠️ AUTHOR ON VACATION. Since the last chapter seems to have sunk like a rock and we are currently out of the country, this story is on pause. UPDATE: we will be home before December so expect updates through the month. Stay safe, folks!🚨 follow @lifeofourtail on instagram for daily doses of pure love—good salve for when after reading sad, heavy, overwhelming chapters. Trust me, you’ll feel better!
Relationships: Elizabeth MacMillan & Jack Robinson, Phryne Fisher/Jack Robinson
Comments: 252
Kudos: 136





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> To my very own Mac—this wouldn’t have been possible without you, Essi. You saved so this story in so many ways, this has parts of you and I wouldn’t want it any other way.  
> To the lovely LeChatNoir—for telling me this isn’t completely worthless and for having the patience of a saint. Thank you for your kindness and for being so generous with your time.

It wasn’t a call Elizabeth MacMillan was used to taking.

Gushing blood, missing limbs, babies halfway out or over and under—those were the kinds of calls the good doctor was more likely to be called upon for. It rarely mattered on what day it was or what time—what exactly is this ‘day off’ people keep harping about? Not that she minds, of course. Dr. Macmillan—Mac as she preferred to be called—knew her life’s calling and it was to save lives.

So it wasn’t unusual that those who knew her best would call her at eleven o’clock in the evening while she’s still in her office at the St. Vincent’s Women’s Hospital in Melbourne, pouring over some medical texts. Today had been rather beastly and it involved a hideously complicated delivery of a baby boy. Mac had nearly lost the mother in her effort to save the baby but she managed, if not by the skin of her teeth. She walked away relieved after informing the father of his family’s fate but it left her wondering if perhaps there was something else she could have done to prevent near-misses like that in the future.

A medical degree doesn’t promise the best luck and for a profession where she is expected to play god, Mac would rather not or at least, do so as little as possible. It seemed more convenient to rely on her skills and leave the playing god to an actual god, if there was one. Or ten, depending on which faith one laid their beliefs.

She was admittedly, distracted when her office phone rang rather loudly that silent night. She wasn’t expecting a call, after all. It was a rare night when there weren’t babies trying to come into the world too soon in the oddest of hours, demanding for Mac’s assistance. Eyes glued to the text in front of her, Mac had blindly reached for the receiver and answered in an absentminded ‘hello’.

It was Clarice ‘Bunji’ Ross which was surprising in itself.

She was a dear friend and a fellow member of the Adventuress Club whom Mac knew for a fact enjoyed spending her nights off the rack in merriment. Mac knew Bunji was as restless as their Madame President just as Bunji knew Mac was the busy bee they all knew and loved. Still, unusual as it was, it wasn’t enough to distract her from her endeavors that night. 

Bunji spoke with her usual air of jovial confidence but there was a very slight difference in her voice. It was the barest hint of anxiety that belied her bright personality only those who knew her best would recognize. And Mac was, if nothing else, one of the best.

“Mac, darling,” Bunji crooned into the telephone. “You really must come. We’re at the...oh, bollocks...Jilly, where are we?”

The doctor kept on with her reading, finding some traction in her research so she waited patiently for the rest of the information filtering in. Okay, maybe it wasn’t often that Bunji called in the best of states but Mac had enough patience for her friend. She wasn’t the worst in the lot while inebriated and more often than not, she always had a good reason to call, even while drowning in giggle water.

“...right-o! Mac, love, we’re at the Bluebird and I know you’ve your more noble pursuits at the moment, but trust me, dear,” Mac could hear the slight tinge in her voice. “You’re needed here.”

There was only one reason Bunji would be requesting Mac’s presence if it wasn’t to drag her out drinking with the lot then that meant getting them out of sticky situations or attending to some kind of an injury. It was never anything major, just minor scrapes brought about by foolhardy decisions aided generously by spirits happily consumed. She was sure the telephone call was most likely decided by Jillian Henderson whom Bunji was obviously in conversation with.

Mac tamped down the urge to sigh, slipping a bookmark on the page she was on and scribbled a couple of notes in a piece of paper to remind herself where she was. Learning would have to be left for another night and Mac hoped she’d have done so before having to deal with another similar ghastly case in the delivery room. Bunji and Jillian together plus an obvious third who was most likely the reason for the call in the first place—her night of research was officially finished. 

It wouldn’t be the first time her academic pursuits were derailed by this particular set, not that she minded too much. Inconvenient as it were, she did adore this particular set of like-minded women. She quietly closed the book and grabbed her fedora from the corner of her table where she had unceremoniously tossed it earlier that evening.

“Alright, what’s she done now?” Mac asked, standing up and stretching as she did so, keeping one hand on the receiver. Her hat was still a little askew but she didn’t bother with it. “Bunji?”

“Well...” she heard scuffling over the line and she wasn’t sure if it was Bunji moving around or poor connection. Could’ve easily been both. “She really hasn’t done anything but she’s well on her way to half-seas over. Darling, did something happen? Dear Phryne is acting just a little out of sorts.”

“I really couldn’t say,” Mac said passively. “Did she take her car with her tonight?”

“Oh, no,” Bunji laughed airily. “Jilly and I picked her up. She was pretty emphatic about leaving tonight completely blotto. When doesn’t she though? Haha!”

“So, what’s the problem?” Mac asked, frowning slightly. “Just dump her on her household. They know how to deal with her...it’s not like she hasn’t done this ten thousand times before.”

Mac wasn’t trying to be cruel but she really didn’t see why her presence was being required. There hasn’t been an injury, as far as she can tell. And no one’s dropped from too much of too much yet. Phryne Fisher imbibing to excess wasn’t exactly a secret among the people who knew her.

Bunji sighed loudly, “Mac, you know we know our limits and lord knows we’ve toed the line, but I’m telling you Phryne seems more than happy to barge right past those limits and jump in headfirst into whatever pit awaits.”

Mac closed her eyes, leaning against her desk and laid an arm across her stomach. “Is she on anything other than alcohol?”

“...there might’ve been some cocaine involved.”

“Anything else?”

“Um...”

Mac sighed, “Right. What’s she doing now?”

“Dancing...quite marvelously actually with a bright young thing not old enough to remember 1918,” Bunji trilled. “He looks utterly decadent and he is besotted with her.”

“Virgins,” Mac muttered, rolling her eyes. “I’m coming. Don’t give her anything more.”

“She just squirreled away a bottle of champagne, darling,” Bunji said hurriedly then there were scuffling sounds once more and this time Mac knew it wasn’t because of bad connections. “Oy, thief!” A thud and then the breathless aviator returned on the line, “She’s liberating it, she says. _Bushwa_!”

“Then get it out of her hands!” the doctor growled.

Bunji scoffed, “Have you ever tried to keep booze away from Phryne Fisher? Honestly!”

Mac was sure there was a headache coming on, “Clarice!”

“ _Elizabeth!_ ” her voice was full of mock hurt at having her name used against her. “You are being rather beastly, darling. It isn’t friendly.”

Mac rolled her eyes, “I’m on my way—she better be alive, d’you hear me?”

“The way she’s wrapped around that pretty thing you bet she’ll be alive! Haha!”

“Bunji...”

There was a loud whine, “Fine. Fine. Phry-neee! Oh, for the love of...Mac, please, just come here!”

If someone were listening or even looking at the woman using the telephone at the Bluebird, they would never have guessed that Bunji Ross was actually one of the best and few female aviators in the country—she was certainly good enough to be instructing newly minted pilots in the Royal Australian Air Force. But with her sparkling green eyes, dark blonde Eton crop and broad shoulders dressed most likely in a suit cut similar to the ones Mac tended to favor, she could easily pass for another scandalous dilettante whose life experience extended at maximum to drinking the days away and listening to the devil’s music.

Not that Mac would blame them since she knew that if pressed _while inebriated_ to take responsibility and exercise even a modicum of restraint then Bunji was the whiniest little thing. Of course, Jillian had to be dragged into it and if Mac was being called in then that meant even the straitlaced lawyer has accepted that she couldn’t handle _both_ Bunji and Phryne alone in this state. Jillian most likely decided she needed reinforcements and the best person to get through to the dear Honourable lady detective had to be her dearest Mac.

Divide and conquer, she figured and since Bunji was the one on the phone that meant Jillian had decided Phryne was the one she needed to keep an eye on. Mac wondered what her dearest and oldest friend had gone and done now. Obviously, a man was involved—or was it a boy? —and some alcohol mixed with cocaine. Curiouser and curiouser, said Alice indeed. 

“I’ll need to call for a cab,” Mac muttered and flinched when another whine crawled through the line. “I didn’t take my motorcar to work today. Just don’t let her out of your sight.”

Bunji sighed into the phone, “Darling, you know I adore you and I love Phryne to pieces but this really is most inconvenient...”

“I can’t imagine how that must feel like,” Mac muttered dryly and then hung up.

She could imagine the look of utter indignation on Bunji’s face at having been hung up on and Mac smiled—just a little. Serves her right, she thought, straightening her fedora on her head and making sure her phone was properly returned in its cradle. Bunji would make her pay for it later but for now the good doctor felt a touch of pettiness had been more than warranted.

Grabbing her coat on her way out, Mac locked her doors and turned out the lights.

o0o

The Bluebird, as it were, was infuriatingly hard to find.

Having no motorcar and taking a taxi had been the smart choice it turned out because she had no idea where the damned place was. Even the driver only had some vague notion of where the entrance was exactly as it was more likely to be swarmed by ‘toffs’ than taxi cab drivers. Not a cheap establishment then, Mac decided though she hated how pretentious it all was. How were drunk revelers supposed to find this place if she couldn’t with all her faculties intact?

It was one of those clubs that were most likely to be raided simply for the amount of too much of too much that tended to fill its dim and smoke-filled walls. Hidden behind a door that blended into the walls of a dark alley, Mac had had to feel around like a drunk idiot just to find the damned handle. And to compound her newfound irritation for this particular haunt, it took ages for anyone to answer her incessant knocking. Then it took _another_ five minutes to convince the goblin behind the door that she was no copper. How many female police officers were there in the entire _country_? Mac had never even seen one in Melbourne.

There was a very lively and loud jazz band onstage and the dance floor was crowded by swaying bodies. Mac had to squint against the smoke-filled air, shaking her head against the fog that immediately threatened to overcome her just by the thick heavy vapors alone. 

“Mac! There you are. Finally!” 

She turned just in time to catch the frantically waving hand of Bunji Ross. The doctor cut through the crowd, pushing past barely clad bodies of women more than happy to indulge. They were at the far end of one side of the club, near a row of darkened alcoves and curtains. Really, it was all a little too much bordering on tacky.

As she expected, Bunji was dressed in an impressive black suit with tails, her strong hands beckoning for her as she approached. Next to her was the short and plump though still quite lovely Jillian Henderson who wore a sparkling dark dropwaist-dress and a look of consternation.

“Mac, darling!” the aviatrix threw her arms around the doctor. Behind her, Jillian nodded at Mac in greeting, turning her head away immediately after to look at something behind her. “How super! Come, come! I take it back—he isn’t as lovely as I thought—an American, if you can believe it.”

“An American who?” Mac spoke louder than usual to be heard over the din. “Where is Phryne?”

“That’s what I’m trying to say,” Bunji latched on to her arm with heavy hands. “The bright young thing. An American! And our dear Phryne just can’t seem to...unlatch herself.”

Mac looked past the slightly inebriated aviatrix and caught Jillian motioning with her head where she’d been looking. Just past the two women was another alcove with heavy dark red curtains lined in golden yellow fringe. Even in the darkness, there were obviously two bodies entangled in each other, arms everywhere and using as little space as possible as they sat one on top of the other. 

“I’d be more than glad to apply for bail,” Jillian muttered to Mac, leaning her head close to hers. “I fear our Miss Fisher is more likely to get arrested for breaking indecency laws at the moment.”

Mac snorted, tilting her head sideways as she observed their friend. Phryne was perched on the young American’s lap although she couldn’t tell how young as all she could really see was the lady detective. Large hands roved her pale, bare back, the tips of his fingers slipping low into the bottom of her dress just above her derriere as she latched on to his shoulders while he kept her upright against him. The raven-haired young heiress threw her head back, her laughter floating above the din as hungry lips trailed kisses from behind her ear, down her neck and to her front. How far the young lovesick dolt got, Mac wasn’t sure but by the girlish squeal he elicited from her, she had some idea.

“Bit of an amateur but...” Jillian tilted her head sideways too, mimicking Mac. “A fast learner.”

Next to her, Bunji nudged them, “I’m all for adventure, darling but I’m not up for breaking out our girl from jail tonight...” she looked around, pursing her thin rouged lips. “They’re beginning to attract attention...and not the good kind.”

“This really isn’t how I wanted my night to go,” Mac said, resigned to her fate though not liking it one bit. “How you three manage to get into—”

“Not fair, Mac,” Jillian cut in with a raised eyebrow. “This is all Phryne.”

“And somehow this means I’m automatically responsible?”

“Well...” the lawyer let her voice trail off. _Fill in the blanks._

“Fine—get the car, Jill,” Mac said resolutely. “Bunji, with me.”

“Right-o,” Bunji hummed while Jillian made her swift exit, hopping happily. “So...an extraction, doctor?”

“Looks like it,” Mac nodded, approaching the amorous pair in the alcove. “Let’s hope this won’t require surgery.”

“But of course,” the pilot hummed. “Because then we’d be in trouble! You’re not a surgeon! Haha!”

Her bold laughter floated in the air as they approached the pair. The young buck now had his hand around the back of Phryne’s neck, pushing her down to meet his lips in an ardent embrace. Her hands grabbed at his collar, clawing at his neck as if she intended to leave her marks on his skin.

“Good lord,” Mac muttered, eyes dark as they approached their friend. “They really ought to be arrested...”

“Are Americans always this...enthusiastic?” Bunji wondered aloud. “Can’t say I’ve had my share but that beautiful boy does make one curious.”

The young man was now left using one hand to balance Phryne in his lap though it was unclear exactly where the other one was. The lady detective was breathing heavily as she finally came up for air, giggling as she pressed his face into her chest. She turned her head just as Mac and Bunji reached them.

“Mac!” there were a lot of exclamations with her name tonight, the doctor thought wryly. Should there be an investigation, she was surely going to shoot up on the list just for being so memorably announced several times in the last five minutes alone. She was suddenly so popular among the inebriated, it seemed. It was almost touching. 

Phryne flashed her a playful, blissful smile, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed. Underneath her, the young American was able to finally come up for air—though he didn’t seem to mind being denied—and peeked from underneath her with inquiring attractive dark eyes. Of course, he was beautiful and yes, so very, very young. Mac knew for certain he was gone, seeing his pupils were quite blown, intoxicated by alcohol and the lust rushing through his bloodstream.

“Darling, how wonderful to see you!” Phryne’s voice was uncharacteristically loud though she kept the elegant lilt in her voice, her polished accent having been acquired with only the best money could buy. “Join us for a drink!”

“I think it’s time to go now,” Mac said in a low voice, completely ignoring the grinning idiot Phryne was perched on. “Jilly’s waiting outside with the motorcar.”

“Oh...” Phryne pouted, her pale pink bottom lip now bare, the rouge most likely having been licked off her by her lovely new friend. “But it’s early! And I can’t leave poor Tom here—he’s all the way from America all alone, the poor thing.”

“Taylor,” the boy said in a deep, cool baritone though he obviously didn’t care if she remembered his name as she traced his sharp jawline with the tip of her finger. He looked up at Phryne with adoring, hazy eyes, “Taylor Caraway.”

“Isn’t he lovely?” Phryne crooned, pressing her generous lips against his which he gladly and quite hungrily accepted. The poor bastard never stood a chance against the dazzling dark haired maven.

Mac rolled her eyes, catching the hint of a healthy pink tongue slipping into the boy’s mouth. Indecency laws had nothing on Phryne Fisher’s unmatched ability to ensnare and enrapture, that much was sure. The two strangers seemed just on the brink of devouring each other right then and there but there was only so much the doctor could take before she herself would grow ill from the sight.

“Yes, yes, dear, but Jilly’s waiting,” Mac prodded. “Come. Time to go.”

“Oh, but I swore I would keep him company,” Phryne crooned at the young thing caught in her charms. “And I believe I’ve done a marvelous job tantalizing him, haven’t I, darling?”

“We really must be going,” Mac said in firm insistence before he could answer, grabbing hold of Phryne’s arm and gave her a gentle tug. Phryne laughed, letting herself get swept away from the boy who immediately had his large hands out for her, reaching.

“But—oh, no, I can see her home—I’d be more than glad to!” the poor boy was lost and Mac was sure it had nothing to do with whatever was running in his system that was man made. She knew an addle-minded fool drunk on Phryne’s remarkable essence when she saw it. He straightened himself, tugging at his mussed clothing, “I’d be more than happy to escort the lady home.”

Mac pulled the giggling woman to her and Bunji seemed to magically produce Phryne’s soft dark blue and snow-white fur cape out of nowhere, wrapping the youngest of their set in its downy soft comfort. Phryne happily fell drunkenly against Bunji, laying her head on her broad shoulder with a dazed smile.

“I have not drunk nearly enough for this,” Bunji declared soberly though she held her good friend close, towering easily over her even in her heeled Mary Janes. “Phryne, love...”

“Ladies, I’d be honored to escort her home,” the young man was calmly persistent as he smoothed his hair back with long fingers. “I’ve a motorcar parked out front. She’ll be perfectly safe in my company.” 

“One would certainly hope so but that isn’t necessary,” Mac said firmly once she was sure Bunji had a good hold on Phryne. “Apologies for cutting your night short but we really must be going.”

“Mac, darling, no need to be so dreary...” Phryne cooed, waving delicate fingers in her direction. “He’s been most solicitous.”

The doctor smirked, “I’d imagine so, but best be off, love.”

“Maaaac...”

“Now, wait just a minute,” the American stood, pulling his full height on the women. He was head and shoulders above them, an impressive specimen. It was no surprise he had caught Phryne’s wandering eyes. “If the lady wants to stay, she can stay.”

Phryne laughed against Bunji as if she’d heard the funniest thing, “He’s adorable! Isn’t he?”

“She seems fine,” he informed Mac with those dark eyes that couldn’t seem to stay away from the lady who had completely and utterly wrapped him around her little finger. “We were just having some fun.”

“She’s had her fun,” Mac responded simply, as if talking to a child she was barely tolerating which she probably was. “Good night, Mr. Caraway.”

He stepped forward, his hand reaching out. “Miss Fisher—”

Eyes blazing Mac stepped in between the two though she did not see how Phryne seemed to suddenly stop, her eyes widening as sucked in a breath with a strangled gasp. She stiffened, her body suddenly going rigid which did not escape Bunji’s notice.

“Oh,” the aviatrix stopped, frowning and looked down on the creature cocooned in her arms. Phryne’s eyes had grown dark and the giddy smile on her face gone as she glanced at the young man reaching for her. She immediately shook her head and turned away from him, wishing to hide herself away as if she no longer welcomed his ardent affections.

Bunji glanced at Mac, a furrow in her brow then looked down upon the once jovial dark beauty. “Darling?” the dark blonde spoke softly. “Are you alright?”

Delicate fingers curled around Bunji’s dark suit and in a very quiet but firm voice, Phryne said, “I think I’d like to go home now, mhmm...”

“Of course, love,” she gathered the cape around her tighter, brushing the downy fur around her pale cheeks.

Mac looked at her friend then at the young man, her eyes piercing against his. She expected him to fight, to stake his claim and demand what he might feel he was owed and she was ready to defend. But he surprised her though as he seemed to visibly deflate and back down. His stance lost its earlier imposing air and he slipped his hands into his pockets and nodded at the women.

“I suppose that’s that,” he said, his voice deep. “Will you ladies be alright going home?”

Appreciating his unexpected maturity, Mac shook her head and gave him a tight-lipped smile. “We will manage just fine, Mr. Caraway, but thank you all the same.”

“I really...” he stopped, looking almost self-conscious as he watched Phryne curiously. “I really didn’t mean any harm.”

Mac and Bunji glanced at each other, “Of course.”

“Have a good night, ladies,” he nodded towards them though he still couldn’t take his eyes off the dark-haired creature whose kiss he could still taste on his lips. “It was lovely to meet...all of you.”

One of the women bid him a kind farewell and made for a swift exit, keeping close to their charge as they moved through the crowded room and left behind the young American with a rueful smile. He watched them leave, making sure they were gone before sighing deeply and regretting the abrupt end to what had been shaping out to be quite the wonderful evening. He ordered himself another drink and disappeared into the crowds.

Right outside the doors, Jillian was waving them in through the windows of Bunji’s motorcar. She’d left it running with the headlights on, ready to peel out the moment all her friends were secure. In another life, had she not been raised by an encouraging lawyer for a father who was more than glad to pass on his legacy to his daughter, she might’ve made a good getaway driver for a bank heist.

“Well, you took your sweet time!” the lawyer inquired, turned in her seat to watch Mac slip into the backseat with Phryne while Bunji jumped out front to sit next to her. “Everything alright?”

“Mr. Caraway was sorry to see us go,” Bunji said simply, smiling beatifically. “Our darling Phryne seems to have made quite an impression.”

“Doesn’t she always?” Jillian returned with a laugh, turning to look at the lady detective who curled up against Mac. “Where to, doctor?”

“Wardlow, if you please,” the redhead answered, tucking her friend into her cape snuggly. She was quite thankful it was Jillian driving them home and not Bunji, not just because of her alcohol consumption but also due to the fact that when it came to driving, she could definitely give Phryne a run for her money. Mac suspected it was no coincidence both women tended to favor flying planes over riding in sedate ships and fast cars over the once-essential horse and buggy.

“Right-o then!” Jillian turned in the driver’s seat, smiling brightly and changed gears easily. The car moved swiftly through the darkened passage, “Off we go!”

Curled up in the backseat, Phryne moved her head against Mac, her jeweled headband brushing the doctor’s jaw lightly. She closed her eyes, fingers clutching at her cape with pale cold fingers. 

She spoke quietly so Mac would be the only one to hear her, “It wasn’t his fault, Mac...it was me.” There was a sound, like a sniffle but it was so quiet, the redhead wasn’t sure if she actually heard it at all, “I tried not to hurt him...really, I tried.”

“Hurt who, Phryne?” Mac looked down, frowning. She wasn’t sure if this was still drunken babbling or she’d missed something else entirely. She tried again to ask her what she meant but the beautiful detective didn’t seem interested in explaining more, laying her cheek against her shoulder and kept her head bent and her eyes closed. If there was any fault to be laid fit for blaming, Mac wasn’t sure what it was but the genuine remorse and heavy sadness in Phryne’s voice was enough to draw her attention.

“Tell him I’m sorry,” Phryne whispered then seemed to sag against her, her weight falling heavily against Mac. Asleep or unconscious from the spirits and the chemicals in her system, the doctor wasn’t sure, but she was breathing evenly and her pulse was steady so she didn’t fret about it.

If she had to guess, the lady detective had to be tired—the case Mac had roped her into at the university and Beatrice Mason had only been wrapped up by the police mere days ago. Phryne had been unable to finish it though she submitted valuable information that helped the police wrap up the case fairly quickly. Charlie Street had nearly given his life and the medical faculty had been decimated by the end but the killer had been captured spectacularly and justice prevailed.

Not that Mac had a problem with Phryne sitting out the last legs of the case since it had been her firm advise for her to do so. After spending the night after the attack running around trying to find the answers they needed, Phryne took the time to truly rest as she conceded to her need to properly recover. The attack had left her ribs deeply bruised and aching on one side and the most Mac could do was wrap her torso tightly and expertly to try and ease the pain though it did to little effect considering how Phryne barely made an effort to protest her subsequent confinement. She wasn’t the easiest of patients but a hit hard enough to nearly fracture her ribs was enough to encourage some cooperation from her.

Damn Geoffrey Spall, Mac thought darkly. She was sure if she checked, the bruises would still be in the healing stages but if Phryne felt game enough to step out tonight with friends then that meant she was on the mend. If she felt any pain lingering from the attack, then the spirits and the cocaine would most likely have taken care of it and Mac was sure that was partly one reason she might’ve indulged. The lady detective was no stranger to self-medicating, after all.

Mac kept her dear friend close, keeping one arm around her while the other rested against the window of the smoothly running motorcar. She watched the quiet city they passed through the glass, her intelligent blue eyes focused on the scenery. She wondered what was going through her friend’s mind, if perhaps there was something she hadn’t said. She remembered Bunji mentioning Phryne had been acting out of sorts.

She was drinking and ended up wrapped up in the most beautiful male specimen in the room. How was that out of sorts for Phryne Fisher? As far as Mac knew, that was typical but then these women knew each other well, at different times maybe, but certainly long enough to recognize if something was amiss. She’d have to talk to Bunji, she decided. Or maybe Jillian—she’d be the better choice, being more observant and, well, sober.

Mac glanced at Phryne, brushing back the dark fringe on her brow lightly with her hand.

Whatever the answer was, it would have to wait for much later. It didn’t look like Phryne was to wake anytime soon and she saw Wardlow brightly lit up on the horizon. Of course, the lovely household of the home on St. Kilda was anticipating the arrival of their beloved mistress, in whatever hour that may be. They were kind people who sought to make a home for their ragtag family, one that the good doctor was quite happy to be part of. 

Mac smiled, deciding she really was quite glad her dearest friend had decided to settle in the Antipodes for a while. She’d missed her terribly in those years they’d spent apart. Their time in London together had been ages ago, it may as well had been another lifetime.

Smiling fondly, she felt warmth bloom inside her, “Almost home, old bean.”


	2. Chapter 2

Morning came too quickly for her liking.

The heavy curtains blocked out the warm rays of the sun but Phryne Fisher still felt the warmth in her bedroom. She was thankful for the astute judgment of her household, leaving the bedroom in relative darkness knowing she wouldn’t be able to stand the brightness of the day in her state. There were very rare times like this when she felt so poorly, she really truly missed the heavy sogginess of the never-ending rains of London. Their kind of dreary weather were far more solicitous of people having imbibed heavily the night before.

“Good morning, Miss,” came the gentle voice of her companion Dorothy Williams—Dot as Phryne liked to affectionately call her—as she entered her bedroom with a tray balanced easily in her hands.

Phryne groaned, keeping her face buried in her pillow, her hair mussed with sleep and her head aching and feeling as if it had been mercilessly packed full of cotton. She had been stripped of her clothes the night before and changed into a light sleeping gown of the finest silk, something else she was also thankful for. Dot knew her far too well and what a blessing that was.

“Your aunt telephoned early this morning,” Dot said, taking no offense at the lack of friendly greeting. “She said she’d like you to call her as soon as possible.”

Phryne waved a lazy hand in the general direction of wherever and brushed her hair back as she sat up, stretching like a cat and turned to her bedside table where a glass awaited her next to some headache powder. Bleary eyed and still not quite alert, she poured the medicine into the glass and quickly downed it, wishing for it to work as quickly as possible rid her of the unpleasant ache. She set the glass aside, opening one eye as if that would help ease her pain and watched as Dot tidied up the silk sheets across her lap before setting the tray down in front of her.

Her beloved butler, the aptly named Tobias Butler, had prepared a light breakfast of a few slices of toast with butter, an omelet and a fresh pot of chamomile tea. She couldn’t remember much from the night before yet but she was sure she hadn’t arrived home alone and it hadn’t been quiet. Mr. Butler no doubt knew of what state she had been in and had kept in mind that a light breakfast would better suit her that morning. He really was an angel incarnate.

“What’s this?” Phryne asked, curious as she spotted a thick envelope next to her plates.

“Oh, the post came today,” her companion informed her dutifully. “A letter arrived from England...from your mother.”

The lady detective shrugged, plucking the envelope from her tray and place it on the table on the other side of the bed. She gave Dot a small smile, “I shall make time later for mother when I’m more alert and probably well into a decanter.” 

Dot smiled fondly, “I’m sure your mother sends nothing but good wishes.”

“Of course she does,” Phryne answered wryly. “But eight pages of gossip can surely wait. Mother so loves to write as if we are talking face to face about our latest exploits. Not that I share much of mine with her. A girl has to have her secrets, after all.”

“Yes, miss,” the younger woman agreed fondly. “Dr. MacMillan left early this morning.”

Phryne smiled, “How was dear Mac?”

“Mr. Butler convinced her to have an early breakfast and some tea,” Dot informed her as she moved carefully pull the dark mauve heavy curtains next to the bed open. She left the gentle layers of lace curtains underneath in place to allow some light into the room without leaving the occupant to the mercy of the bright mid-morning rays. “She left instructions to make sure you drink the powder and rest. She said she’ll come back tonight and check your ribs to make sure they’re healing properly.”

“Mac has always been and will always be a worrywart,” Phryne’s voice came out less smooth than she wished and she quietly cleared her throat. “I’m quite alright now, Dot. Don’t you worry.”

“I know, Miss,” Dot gave her a small smile and followed when her mistress patted the space next to her on the bed so they could share her breakfast together. Phryne wasn’t fond of eating alone. “But we worry about you all the same.”

“And you are kind to do so,” Phryne smiled a little. “Did Bunji and Jill stay the night as well?”

“Oh, no,” the younger woman answered dutifully. “Miss Ross said she wasn’t ready to call it a night and Miss Henderson joined her. They said you can call them when you’re able or if not, they’d see you on your next club meeting.”

Phryne nodded, slathering on some butter on a slice of toast and handed it to her companion, “I suppose I can wait until then. Bunji will be busy at the RAAF and Jill has a case to wrap up.”

Dot took a small bite, “Dr. MacMillan joined you last night, Miss?”

“No,” Phryne smirked lightly. “Or at least she didn’t intend to. I’m afraid I might have overindulged a little too much so the ladies felt the need to call in reinforcements. There was this delicious young American with the softest hands...”

Dot felt a blush creep onto her cheeks, seeing the blissful smile on her mistress’ face as she remembered her companion from the night before. Surely she hadn’t gone all the way with that American? The ladies certainly didn’t have a man with them and Phryne was barely conscious when they changed her out of her dress. 

“Not that we were able to do much,” Phryne pouted, preparing some toast for herself and jostling Dot out of her reverie. “Mac put a kibosh to that rather quickly.” A wicked smile appeared on her face, “Though I suppose I didn’t make it particularly easy for her.”

“You had a good time then, Miss?”

“Quite,” Phryne sighed happily, biting into her toast. “He was rather young but I had nothing to complain about. He proved to be a rather astute learner. Pity we had to cut our lessons short.”

Dot didn’t really want to know what sort of lessons her mistress was happily imparting to that young man the night before. She’d seen some of those lessons for herself and those memories threatened to bring a blush to her cheeks once more. That rodeo man alone was enough to send her running the other direction that one awful evening.

Phryne stopped, as if realizing she’d lost herself in her own head once more and smiled brightly at her companion after another bite of toast followed by some of the omelet. Dot poured them both some tea and the two women shared their light meal happily.

“You mentioned my aunt called?” the lady detective inquired once the food and tea had been put away. The powder had done wonders for the consequence brought on by the night before and the food had done well to settle her stomach. All in all, it was rather a pleasant transition that morning, enough to welcome the intruding presence of her beloved battleaxe of an aunt.

“Yes, Miss,” the girl answered, putting the tray away on a table before reaching for her lady’s dressing gown and laid it on the bed ready for her. “She wanted to discuss with you a charity event you agreed to host together?”

Phryne sighed, wincing slightly. “Oh, it slipped my mind...she’s starting to figure me out, Dot. She must be stopped.”

“Better get right on that, Miss,” her companion grinned, “She’s not too far behind. Mrs. Stanley really is quite sharp.”

“That she is,” Phryne murmured with a small smile. “Oh, well. Might as well get it over with. It’s for a good cause, at least.” 

“Which one, Miss?”

“I believe the Children’s Hospital,” she answered after a moment. “Aunt P has pledged to raise enough money to build a new wing. Of course, this is still part of her campaign to get me into the board.”

Dot’s ears perked up, “Is that something you might be interested in, Miss Fisher?”

“Not really,” she shrugged, finally slipping out of bed and into her black dressing gown with the fighting cocks colorfully depicted in the back. “I’m all for good works and charity but I honestly cannot imagine myself sitting through those tedious meetings Aunt P is so fond of going to...I believe they meet every week.”

“But it’s for a good cause, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” she nodded, running her fingers through her hair thoughtfully. “Which is why I agreed to host the event with Aunt P. I’d gladly do it again if it means more beds and accommodations for children in need of affordable healthcare.”

Dot thought for a moment, “But being part of the hospital board means you can make sure those plans are put through and they help children, wouldn’t it, Miss?”

“Aren’t you the enterprising one today, Dot,” Phryne pointed out though she gave her a patient smile to assure the girl she took no offense to her sudden initiative.

Not that it stopped the girl from being alarmed, worried she might have overstepped, “Oh, no, I’m sorry. Miss, I was just—”

Phryne laughed lightly, “Do calm down, Dot. I’m just teasing. I understand what you’re trying to say perfectly.” She gave her a jaunty kiss on the cheek as she passed by her on the way to her closet, “But I’m afraid I must draw the line at weekly gatherings with people who believe they can buy their way into heaven or wherever else they believe they’ll end up if they throw enough money around.” 

Dot, still quite startled by her forwardness, found herself nodding along. “I suppose I could understand that...kind of like Mrs. Prince at the church. Her son is a bit of a handful, you see...she makes a donation every time he does something troublesome like that time he threw fireworks into the confessional booth.” She puffed up her cheeks, “...while Father O’Reilly was still inside.”

Phryne’s boisterous laughter rang out from within her vast closet, “Mrs. Prince’s little hellion must be costing her enough to build an entire Cathedral!”

Dot smiled weakly, “Father Grogan tries very hard to be a firm guiding voice but I think young master Prince is proving to be quite a challenge.”

“Well, they do say God doesn’t give us more than we can handle,” Phryne smirked as she emerged from her closet with a fresh outfit she was planning to wear that day. “Now, what do you think of these for today?”

Dot noted the beautiful red silk blouse and plain white trousers and nodded approvingly, “It’s lovely. What are your plans for today, Miss?”

“A consultation with the Sisters of St. Agnes,” Phryne responded, turning her head towards her. “You’ve heard of them?”

The younger woman nodded though she looked confused, “Aren’t they a cloistered order, Miss? That convent just at the edge of the city?”

She smiled approvingly, “That’s the one. Aunt P asked me to look into some concerns the sisters have. They haven’t reached out to anyone and I was recommended because, well, I’m the only female detective in town, I suppose.” She eyed the bright red blouse, “You don’t suppose they’ll confuse me for a potential novitiate?”

“I think you’re more than safe from that, Miss,” Dot grinned, understanding the bold choice in color for the day. She moved across the room to start her mistress’ bath and the two women continued to chat as they prepared for the day ahead.

“A cloistered nunnery,” Phryne mused as she picked out her jewelry while waiting, glancing at her reflection and noted that she might need some extra powder. More consequence from her indulgence. “This will be rather new to me...you don’t suppose they’ve ever seen a man?”

Dot thought for a moment, “They’re not supposed to but as long as they weren’t born in the nunnery or surrendered there as a child...maybe.”

“Interesting,” the lady detective hummed. “A life without men...” she shuddered, making a face as she looked at her reflection in the mirror. “Can you imagine anything more horrid?”

Her companion couldn’t help but laugh at that, “I can imagine a few things, Miss but I suppose I understand why you would think so.”

“I can’t imagine anything duller, at least,” Phryne sighed. “But then again...maybe I do understand the appeal.” She frowned, turning her back from her reflection, “There certainly are some men we simply can do without.”

Dot raised an eyebrow, watching her mistress as she moved about the room and poured some oil for herself for her bath. There was something in her voice when spoke, something that Dot didn’t fully understand. She wondered if her miss meant anyone in particular. Maybe that horrible Frenchman? She could understand that. But something nagged at her, that she was missing something right then. It wasn’t like her mistress to show any outward displeasure, especially if it involved the discussion of the opposite sex. She was quite appreciative of them.

She had half a mind to ask, to inquire further, but she hesitated, remembering her forwardness from earlier. Dot pursed her lips, not wanting to make a habit of that for fear she might overstep in her carelessness. Not that the Honourable Phryne Fisher was the type but the last thing Dot wanted was to offend her, not after all the kindness she had shown her. So she bit her tongue and left it alone and instead, offered to find the appropriate footwear to pair with her outfit for the day and make sure she had the stockings to match. 

Phryne gave her the most delighted smile and proclaimed her an angel as she slipped into the water.

o0o

“You have to hand it to that ruddy bastard...he was a hell of a dirty fighter.”

Mac was bent down over the supine form of her best friend on the chaise longue in her parlour that evening at Wardlow. They were enjoying some pre-dinner cocktails together, waiting patiently for Mr. Butler to call them into the dining room. Phryne’s blouse had been rolled upwards to expose her torso, just under her breasts where on the left side of her ribs was a set of spectacular bloom of bruises.

“They’re healing,” she prodded gently at the vibrant purple skin edged with a sickening shade of green. “Have you had any trouble breathing?”

Phryne kept her eyes on the ceiling, “No, not since a couple days after the break in. I’m perfectly fine.”

“Of course you are,” Mac responded dryly and stood up, motioning for her to reposition her clothing back in place. “You certainly weren’t feeling any pain last night.”

Phryne rolled her eyes as she sat up and curled her legs underneath her as she sat sideways on her chaise longue, “Is it time for my lecture?”

The doctor raised an eyebrow at that, surprised at the lack of playfulness in her tone as if she really expected to be scolded. Mac picked up her drink, taking a seat on the bench in front of the piano and gave her friend a long appraising look, “Since when did I ever lecture you on those matters?”

Phryne shrugged, “Never mind then. Maybe I should lecture you on getting between me and delicious young Americans willing to fulfill my every carnal wish.”

That sounded more like her, “I was called to serve. And I did. Take it up with Jillian.”

She pouted, “No fair. Jilly would give me a walloping.”

Mac chuckled, “Precisely.” She paused, tilting her head sideways as she contemplated her drink and swirled it around the bottom of her glass. “Do you remember anything at all from last night?”

“Of course,” she smiled coyly. “That young Mr. Caraway left quite an impression.”

The doctor brushed that aside, “Anything from the ride home? Bunji’s car?”

Phryne’s brow furrowed, “I don’t know what you mean.” She thought for a moment, “I think I had a little too much...of everything. I fell asleep, I think?”

“You were awake for the half of it,” Mac pointed out. “You said something but I don’t think I understood you properly.”

“Oh?” she smiled, intrigued. “What did I say? Something naughty?”

Mac frowned a little, watching her closely, “You said something about not wanting to hurt someone. And to tell him you’re sorry. I thought you meant the American but you two seemed too cozy to have been anywhere close to hurting.”

Phryne looked as confused as ever, “Really? That sounds odd, doesn’t it? Maybe you misunderstood.”

“I don’t think so,” Mac returned confidently. “You seemed happy one minute and then sad all of a sudden...this won’t happen have anything to do with a certain detective inspector by any chance?”

Her eyes seemed to widen at that, “The Inspector? Now, why would that have anything to do with him? He wasn’t there last night, was he?”

“No, but you did mention you were...at odds last time.”

Phryne waved a hand lazily in her direction, “All water under the bridge. We worked on your case together. We spoke briefly and agreed it was all rather silly.”

“So, you patched things up?” Mac’s eyebrows were practically in her hairline now. “That quickly?”

“The inspector is not a stupid man,” Phryne said breezily. “He knows the value of an intelligent woman.”

Mac looked skeptical for a moment, “He isn’t stupid...that is true.”

Phryne gave her a bright smile, “I don’t know what I could have possibly meant...I probably bruised the boy and hoped to make amends. We were rather...energetic together.”

She snorted into her drink, “That’s one way of putting it.”

“Well, I suppose I should share my remorse...if we ever have a chance to meet again,” Phryne looked eager at the prospect. “Though I’ll leave that up to chance.”

Mac made a face, “Oh, but Phryne...wasn’t he a little young for you?”

“Not entirely,” she answered cheekily. “As Guy once pointed out...I like my meat tender.”

Mac raised her drink in her direction, “That you do.”

Phryne’s eyes lit up, “Oh, speaking of tender meats—you’ll never believe what I’ve been up to today!”

“Oh, boy...”

She leaned forward in her seat, “Oh, yes. I went to a monastery!” A wicked smile spread on her lovely face, “Oh, Mac. It was marvelous!”

“Marvelous?” her eyebrows shot up. “Don’t tell me we’re losing you to a convent anytime soon, darling.”

“Oh, of course not, silly bean,” Phryne laughed, taking a sip of her martini. “They were the most interesting lot you could ever imagine coming across. So self-sufficient! They make everything from their own clothes to their own food, oh, they were giving each other haircuts...” she flinched, “Though not very well but those women do everything they possibly can to avoid any and all kinds of human contact with the outside world—especially men. It was fascinating!”

Mac smirked, “Women shunning men is fascinating to you?”

“Absolutely,” Phryne responded animatedly. “Granted, I could do without the lambs and whatever else they’re slaughtering in there.” She made a face, “There was so much blood, which at first alarmed me since I wasn’t even entirely sure what Aunt P wanted me to consult on but they straightened it out pretty easily. Something about chickens and a Sister Cook.”

“Let me guess...she’s a nun and she cooks?”

Phryne stuck her tongue out at her, “So it turns out the monastery was being harassed and they didn’t know why. At first it was little things...plants being ripped from the roots, lambs being let out at night and at some point, even their wool was sabotaged. It unnerved the sisters enough to reach out to Aunt P when she made her annual visit.”

Mac frowned, “Who would harass nuns?”

“That’s what bothered me,” the lady detective motioned at her with her drink. “They said it happened constantly, practically daily...so I waited.” 

“And let me guess...you solved it.”

Phryne smirked, “But of course. It turns out it was just some former beau of one of the novitiates. Blames the order for the loss of his sweetheart. I spoke with the girl. She seemed earnest in her desire to join the order, said she felt a calling. Broke the bloke’s heart and he was taking it out on the poor lot of them. Isn’t that just silly?”

Mac shrugged, “People do stupid things for love.”

“I wouldn’t know,” she turned her nose up at that. “I spoke with the lad. Seemed completely shattered...but he promised to leave them alone. I told the sisters I’d drop in next week to make sure all is well.” She paused, “They don’t have electricity there, did you know? So not even telephones. Isn’t that something?”

“I’d say I bet you can’t last a week there but I’m worried you might take it as a challenge.”

Phryne eyebrows shot up, “I would.”

Mac rolled her eyes, “Please, don’t. I’ve enough sins, I don’t need you to compound them. Leave the poor lot alone and I’ll take your word for it.”

“Smart woman,” the dark haired beauty purred, leaning back against the chaise longue.

Mac finished her drink, glancing at the cart and made another one for herself and inquired as to Dot’s involvement in the case only to have Phryne deny the claim vehemently.

“I wouldn’t dare take her there!” the detective exclaimed with a laugh. “What if she hears a sudden calling? Poor Constable Collins would never forgive me!”

Mac grinned, “Oh, that poor boy. I suppose that’s the smarter choice.” She thought for a moment, “Did Dot ever consider joining a convent?”

“Not that she’s mentioned but she does think she might’ve ended up working for one if I hadn’t scooped her up,” she bit her bottom lip. “It really was quite dirty of Lydia Andrews to dismiss her without reference...poor girl could have ended up with little chance of working for a respectable lot.”

“Yes, but then is that really worse than framing the child for the murder of her husband?” Mac pointed out. “You do make friends with the oddest sorts, Phryne.”

Phryne’s bottom lip jutted out, “You may have a point there...I really didn’t imagine being a detective would involve me locking up old friends.” She gave Mac a look, “Don’t you go murdering anyone, you hear me? I’d hate to have to pick up after evidence and find you at the end of it.”

Mac laughed, “Oh, darling. If I was ever to murder anyone, don’t you think you’d be right there with me? Most likely with a shovel!”

Loud boisterous laughter erupted from her painted lips, “A shovel! What an amateur you are, Dr. MacMillan!”

Both women shared a laugh over their macabre conversation, bouncing off ideas at each other on the best ways to dispose of a body and how to get away with murder. They made a good sport of it until they were called to dinner by an amused Mr. Butler, not at all fazed at catching her mistress talking about him cleaning up after her murder and turning him into an unwitting accomplice. The evening flew by in high spirits as the two friends enjoyed a happy night in together.

If Mac noticed that Phryne had diverted her attentions from the discussion regarding a certain detective inspector, she didn’t make it known to her. She certainly didn’t miss the wild ways her eyes seemed to bounce around the room as they discussed the Antipodean police officer, wishing to look at everything and anything as long as their eyes didn’t meet. 

Mac also didn’t fail to notice how she seemed to avoid saying the man’s name altogether when she had always been so liberal with her use of it. Surely, this was an odd turn of events, one that the good doctor would be keeping watch of for a while. She wasn’t sure if Phryne was lying about her claims of having patched things up with the man but it certainly wasn’t the whole truth. She tried not to feel immediate concern—spats were inevitable between two people who worked as close as they did and also tended to have opposing beliefs on certain matters. 

She did not know what her best friend hoped to accomplish by lying to her but she let it go for now. Let her go on thinking she’d given Mac the slip. She was less likely to be so guarded if she thinks she had gotten away with it. But whatever was going on, she knew for certain now Phryne had been talking about Jack Robinson that night in her drunken stupor. She had been far too skittish and certainly had not done as well as she might have thought in deceiving one of her oldest and dearest friends. Phryne was clever but there were very rare times she too could be outplayed and who better than good old Mac?

It was nice for other people to win sometimes, a concept Phryne had yet to truly appreciate.

o0o

Nearly midnight, Wardlow house finally found the quiet.

The good doctor had left in high spirits, kissing her best friend on the cheek and gave Mr. Butler a jaunty wave goodbye as she slipped into the awaiting taxi cab. The parlour was easily put back to rights and Dot slipped upstairs to prepare her mistress’ things for the night while Phryne sat by the fireplace. She sat there enjoying the warmth, glad to finally find the time to read the letter from her mother. 

Her mother always did her best to fill envelopes to capacity, writing her fondest thoughts and care for her daughter in ways she couldn’t in spoken words. Of course there were tons of gossip to be shared and a lot had happened between the time she sent out her last letter to Phryne and as well as the time it took for her reply to reach England. She wrote like she spoke and Phryne took comfort in that, hearing her mother’s voice as she read on. There were many ways the Fisher family was fractured beyond repair but not too long after she decided to settle into her new life in Australia, Phryne quietly decided to make a conscious effort of at least maintaining communication with her mother.

Once Janey had been laid to rest and the pain that came with her loss lead the way to some healing, it made correspondences with her mother seem easier. Their parents hadn’t had the chance to come home for the burial but her mother had been so very thankful for Phryne’s efforts to make right what she could. To bridge the loss from their new home, her parents had a plaque made instead in England, to remember their youngest daughter by and to have a place to visit and lay flowers. It warmed Phryne’s heart knowing they made such an effort for their beloved Janey.

It took time and some considerable amount of patience, understanding and some whiskey for Phryne to reach this point with her mother. Her father was a different story but she didn’t let that stop her from showing her mother the kindness and affection she often felt bereft of ever since Phryne absconded from school to join the war. The correspondences had gone well, moving from shy pleasantries and politeness to a more familiar ground of familial affection. 

Phryne looked forward to these letters now, happy to know her mother was well and still thought of her. It was a little bit of home, what little good there of it existed, that warmed her soul. It was a rare piece, one that she had always denied herself ever since she lost Janey. But time had helped her to heal, especially once Janey had been found, and Phryne allowed herself a small amount of solace. Whatever fragile peace these letters bought them, it was hard won and held close.

Sitting back with her drink, Phryne unfolded the letter and began to read.

o0o

It was midnight by the time they were ready to lockup for the night.

Mr. Butler was on his way to inquire if his employer needed anything else when he heard the faint shut of the main door of the house. Curious, he peeked into the room where he had last seen her, finding the seat empty next to the table were an empty glass lay beside a set of pages from a letter left open. Wondering if he had somehow missed something, he checked the hook by the door, noticing that coat Phryne Fisher had worn that day was gone as well along with her gloves.

Wondering, he opened the front door, hoping to find the Hispano Suiza parked outside the house where it had been left earlier in the night only to find it gone. He was planning on parking it in the garage in the back of the house before locking up but that seemed a rather moot point now considering the vehicle was nowhere to be seen. Shaking his head lightly, he closed the door behind him. Mr. Butler was more convinced he had missed something, which was not at all a fond thought. He prided himself on anticipating the needs of his mistress and understanding her moods and her unpredictable nature. 

“Miss?” Dot called out softly as she descended the stairs, surprised to find Mr. Butler on the landing. She gave him a pleasant smile, “All locked up for the night?”

“Almost, Dot dear, though I’m afraid we are one short,” the older man motioned towards the door. “I believe Miss Fisher has stepped out for the night.”

“What? No, that can’t be,” she smiled at the silly idea. “It’s midnight. She was going up to get ready for bed...wasn’t she?”

“I’m afraid she’s changed her mind,” he replied with his usual grace. “She’s taken the Hispano.”

“Oh,” Dot paused, frowning slightly. “Do...do you think she’s alright, Mr. Butler? I mean...I don’t mean to gossip but, uhm, you’ve seen it too, haven’t you? Miss Fisher has been behaving rather...odd?”

The older man gave her a kind smile, “Miss Fisher seems to be in a rather peculiar mood these days.”

Dot looked relieved at that, to have her concerns validated. “I thought she was alright. She seemed happy enough dining with Dr. MacMillan but this morning...” She shook her head, “I suppose I’m just being a worrywart...or so she’d say.”

Mr. Butler nodded, giving her a kind look. “Don’t fret too much, Dot. I’m sure Miss Fisher is just sorting a few things out. She’ll return,” he smiled at her comfortingly. “In the meantime, why don’t you go and rest? Chances are, we’ll be asleep by the time she comes back and I’m sure she won’t be happy if she finds out you’ve lost sleep fussing over her.”

“I suppose,” she said with no small amount of reluctance. “It’s just that…ever since the case at the university things have felt different.”

The butler had his suspicions but he was far too loyal and far too proper to tell tales on someone as wonderful as his employer, even if it was a discussion with Dot who had nothing but good intentions. So he simply gave a noncommittal nod and gave her his most reassuring smile.

“I’m sure Miss Fisher will speak with us if she finds herself in need of assistance,” he responded with a calm assurance that was fit to soothe the young woman.

“You’re probably right,” Dot nodded in agreement. Whatever was happening with her mistress, she hoped she would return soon. She was often uneasy whenever she would leave the house without anyone with her, more so at night. And Dot really found it rather disconcerting, they’d been left under the impression she was in for the night and yet the first time everyone’s back was turned, she disappeared. It was unlike of Phryne to do something like that, to be so thoughtless.

Shuffling up the stairs, Dot tried to wipe the worry from her mind. She prepared nightclothes in the boudoir and proceeded to her own. After slipping into her own sleepwear and pulling the pins out of her long curling hair, Dot knelt by her bed and said a prayer, remembering to ask God to please keep her miss safe from harm and prayed for calm and peace of mind for her adored miss.

Downstairs, Mr. Butler locked up Wardlow for the night. His mistress would surely have keys to let herself in should she return before they awaken but just in case, he knew he would be keeping an ear out. He entered the parlour, making sure the flames were doused and took the empty glass back with him. The letter that had been left out, he had taken up into her bedroom and laid it on her bedside table, folded neatly back into the envelope it came in, its contents kept well away from prying eyes. It was not his place to invade his employer’s privacy beyond necessity and he kept a strict rule on correspondences, especially personal letters.

The butler didn’t know exactly was leading to the sudden shift in his employer. He’d noticed there were subtle changes that had been occurring but he kept his observations to himself. There was a new emerging pattern he wasn’t sure Dot had picked up on yet, but it involved a certain lack of presence in the home. If that was the case, if that was what was bothering the young socialite then Mr. Butler would choose to leave it be. There were some things he knew very well to stay out of unless invited in. Should the time come Phryne decided she needed the help of her household, she would come to them.

Until then, Mr. Butler will make sure she had a home to return to whenever that may be.

o0o

Phryne knew it was rather rude, leaving like that.

Not a word to Mr. Butler and nothing to leave Dot with some peace of mind. There would be questions, she knew, but she didn’t have any answers for them. Where was she going? She didn’t know. Why she felt the need to leave in the middle of the night? She wasn’t sure. Phryne just knew she had to get out of there and quickly. The house, full of laughter less than an hour ago, had suddenly become too quiet without Mac and her stories.

Left in the parlour by the fire after reading her mother’s letter, out of nowhere she started to feel as if everything was being amplified. As large as Wardlow `was, suddenly Phryne could hear everything that was happening. Mr. Butler putting the cutlery away in the kitchen, Dot upstairs moving about her bedroom. The rustle of the pages of the letter. The running of the water through the pipes. The wind blowing through the open windows. It was maddening and set her teeth on edge.

She could have read a book or at least waited until her household had retired for the night. Surely there would have been peace then but Phryne doubted it. She was being silly, she was sure. Most likely, she was imagining all those things she was hearing but what else was there to do? She was wide awake and the silence was getting to her. At the time, it made all the sense in the world to leave.

The roads were clear and she found nary a soul in sight. She was tempted to slip into the Green Mill but she wasn’t entirely dressed for it in her red silk blouse and white trousers. She considered going home but her mind rebelled against that. She thought about checking into the Winsor Hotel but couldn’t make herself go in that direction. So she drove, quite aimlessly through the quiet streets of Victoria.

Phryne trained her eyes on the road and had both hands on the wheel, but she kept mind shut tight. Every time she let go, every time she closed her eyes, she was right back in those last moments. She could remember the way his eyes flashed with the anger he didn’t bother to conceal and how her proximity made his jaw clench as if he could barely stand to be in her presence. It hadn’t taken a week for his kind eyes and gentle words to morph into everything it didn’t used to be.

At first, she hadn’t taken it seriously. She thought his anger would dissipate and then they would get right back to it. So she treated it like a game, which was her biggest mistake. Maybe she failed to understand, failed to see that for some people, it really was that easy. That it was that simple, letting go of someone. She didn’t understand that, not at first but once she did, it took everything she had inside of her not to crumple right then and there. His harshness and complete disregard for her well-being had hammered it home for her. He had let go of her, gave her up like a bad habit and she was the fool left thinking he would never walk away. 

Phryne was deeply hurt, though she wouldn’t dare admit it to anyone. She had come dangerously close the night before with Mac, but she was glad she didn’t. Drowning herself in drinks and cocaine hadn’t helped and instead, seemed to loosen her tongue and that was unacceptable. She’d done well trying drive herself into distraction with that boy but that only took her so far. She needed distance and clarity, something to keep herself busy and keep her from thinking about what she had lost.

She wanted to be angry and to even be a little petty but she couldn’t find it in herself to feel that way because she understood. She did, all too well, and perhaps that only compounded the sadness that was coursing through her soul. She understood why he felt the need to walk away, how he could come to the conclusion that she wasn’t worth his time and effort any longer. It wasn’t hard to see now that she’s had time to come to terms with her own failures and her own carelessness. He had done the right thing, saving himself for the pain she was more than capable of causing him.

A tear fell down her cheek and Phryne stubbornly wiped it away and her foot fell heavier against the pedal, feeding more gas into the machine and forced the motorcar to go faster. She kept her eyes on the road, not bothering to check the dashboard to see how high the numbers were climbing. A part of her wanted to run away, get as far away from there as possible but she couldn’t do that again, not now when she’s built this little family for herself. She’d never had such a sense of belonging in such a long time and even though she understood why Jack couldn’t stand to be in her presence and would gladly rid himself of her completely, she couldn’t give this to him. She had run before but this time, she wasn’t going to. This was her home and she had built a life for herself. 

Phryne needed to focus, to put her energy into something else. She needed a distraction that involved more than just having a warm body next to her because she knew that wouldn’t be enough. She needed to exhaust herself until even her brain couldn’t get enough energy to torment her with her own failures, until she wasn’t so easily reminded how she had been thrown away and forgotten.

Tears flooded her vision once more.

Oh, that hurt. Quite terribly so. She pressed her foot down once more and the Hispano Suiza’s engines roared and the numbers climbed higher. It was foolish to keep thinking about it. She was hurt, yes but it didn’t mean she had to dwell on it, did she? Oh, but how it hurt. She wished she could find a way to borrow someone else’s heart just until she could get through one thought of him without feeling hers break a little. What a fool she was turning into.

By the time she thought to check how fast she was going, she had gone far beyond eighty-five and Phryne felt her heart leap into her throat. She resisted the urge to slam on the breaks and risk throwing herself out of her own car so she decelerated slowly as the road stretched before her. It could have easily ended tonight, she thought, as her body was flooded with a sick kind of coldness that almost made her sick. She had been going way too fast and she could have easily killed herself and that was the last thing she wanted.

Phryne was hurt but she wasn’t suicidal and she scolded herself for such carelessness. This was the reason why he’d left her, wasn’t it? The reason why he decided she wasn’t worth the trouble. She hated to prove him right. Absolutely couldn’t stand it. She slowed down, took a more appropriate pace and quietly apologized to her Hispano. She didn’t mean to take her pain out on the poor machine. It had been nothing but good to her and she’d gone and risked destroying it along with herself. How fitting that she would nearly destroy this beautiful machine as she had nearly destroyed a beautiful man. Hating her foolishness, she turned the car around and headed for home.

She was indeed a fool, letting a man leave her out of sorts like this. She was hurt, very deeply but this wasn’t the first time she’d been hurt and it wasn’t the first time she had been left behind. It won’t stop hurting anytime soon but she knew the answer was not destruction. She needed to rebuild, to find something to hold on to and not lose herself until the hurt turned into a dull ache. In her lifetime, Phryne had become quite adept in putting herself back together. This wasn’t the first and surely, it wasn’t going to be the last and soon, Jack Robinson was going to be just another name on a long list of strangers whose laughter and kind words she would pretend to have forgotten.

Alone on the road under the stars, Phryne Fisher promised herself to move forward and do better.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been a quiet two weeks.

The city stayed the same and the criminals kept them busy. Paperwork was as tedious as ever and their time revolved around pounding the streets in their well-worn shoes and going to court to close out cases and send their crims off to gaol. It was a steady rhythm, one that was all too familiar that had been missing in for nearly a year. For those two weeks, Jack Robinson welcomed its return.

Mornings came and went, so did the nights. He ate breakfast at home, lunch at work and dinner back at home. Sometimes, if he felt the need to, he’d eat out but that urge rarely came around. He ate to sustain himself and he slept as much as he could. As the days went by, it started to feel back to the old familiar, back to when life had been a lot less exciting and so much more easier to predict.

There was no Phryne Fisher when that professor had been arrested. He had jumped onto that motorcycle half-expecting her to hop right on behind him but she hadn’t. He half-expected her to be waiting for him that night in his office, a cat that ate the canary smile on her face, knowing the evidence she had sent to him through Dot had been what cracked the case wide open. She wasn’t. She didn’t come around the day after that. Or the next day. Or the day after.

At first, Jack felt an immense amount of relief, thankful that for once, she had listened to him. He didn’t think her capable but she was apparently. He welcomed the peace and the calm, the lack of unpredictability and careless intrusion. He felt himself begin to lighten and felt the tensing of his jaw begin to recede. It felt as if a tight band had been loosened around his brain and the pressure dissipated with each day that passed. It was relaxing and it made doing his job seem a lot easier. He wanted to thank her, but couldn’t, of course. She was never there.

Sometimes, he still expected her to appear at his crime scenes but she didn’t. When a rich businessman wound up washed up on the foreshore, he thought he heard her voice somewhere in the distance only to realize it was someone else. He was sure the death of someone of such importance would draw her out, force her to abandon her intent to honor his wishes, but none of that happened. He went on with the case, dealt with the family and closed it without a single whisper of her presence. It felt almost surreal and even when he tried not to, he began to feel her absence quite keenly.

Two weeks. Half a month. It was the longest he had ever gone without seeing her since the day they met.

She left him alone for fourteen days and gave him the quiet he begged her for and he was grateful. Even on the eighth day, when a body was found stuffed in a cupboard at the Windsor Hotel where a charity event was being hosted by Mrs. Prudence Elisabeth Stanley for the Children’s Hospital, she was nowhere to be found. He had been informed she was supposed to be hosting alongside her aunt but had suddenly begged off that very same day, as if she somehow knew something was going to happen and his presence would be required.

Jack was sure she would make an appearance, find some way to insert herself into the investigation but she never did. She was nowhere near the place when the crime took place and it turned out it had nothing to do with the event. The crime was entirely separate from the gathering and that removed any need for them to even consider interviewing the attendees and the hosts, whether they were present or not. So, quite conveniently, their paths never crossed and none of it required for them to have any contact at all.

He didn’t acknowledge the lingering thought in his head, that had she made an appearance then or later at the foreshore, he wouldn’t have minded so much. He was still feeling some relief by her decision to give him the distance he so desired but he found the idea of her making her presence known once more didn’t quite have the same negative as it did initially. He had gotten used to her barging in and stomping all over his crime scene and now that the initial shock of his own misunderstanding of her demise, he found he wasn’t quite so cross with her anymore. Not that he would say anything to her, not that he could. She was, after all, no longer ever there.

There was, of course, the constant presence of Dot who still dropped by the station nearly everyday to bring some treats for her beau. Ever the kind soul, she always brought more than enough food for Hugh Collins and never failed to invite Jack to partake. True to his own sense, he always politely declined, even when he recognized the dishes that were being served, knowing some of them well enough and how delicious they would be. Somehow, it didn’t feel right pushing Phryne Fisher out of his life and still eat her food. 

Not that he shared that sentiment with the young lovers.

It wasn’t fair how the scent of freshly cooked meals and aromatic teas had her barging into his mind. She didn’t have to be there for her to invade his peace, it took as simple as the smell of food prepared in her kitchen for him to be bothered by her. Being reminded of her made him think about her and her absence. He didn’t mind admitting to himself in his own mind that he did, in fact, miss her. Not that he didn’t expect to, he did, but experiencing it was an entire matter. He’d already had a taste of it, after all, those horrendous forty-minutes when he thought she had finally done that one last stupid thing and killed herself. He knew it was going to hurt, knew it wasn’t going to be easy but he also knew he could get through it.

Oh, but it did nothing to stop him from missing her.

He had decided this, hadn’t he? He chose to distance himself from her and when she kept making an appearance in his life, cruelly reminding him of what he could no longer have, he begged her to leave him alone and forced her out. It seemed the best course of action to take and he had tried to do so without being harsh, asking her as calmly as he could and explained to her why he needed for her to go. She didn’t seem willing to listen, not at first, until she finally seemed to understand and simply disappeared in the middle of an investigation and had not returned since. She gave him peace.

Jack never believed she truly would, not because she was cruel but because she could not help herself. His expectations had been so low, but of course, she did what she always did—Phryne Fisher lived to defy expectations. It was the very core of her personality, to be this constant destroyer of expectations. He appreciated that particular trait of hers now more than ever.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t curious.

On the fifteenth day, he timed his exit properly like a combatant planning a siege. He kept himself by the door inside his office, waiting for the barest mention of Phryne before casually stepping out with some paperwork he needed Hugh to file. Dot had offered him a sweet smile along with some fresh Anzac biscuits in a small parcel, claiming they were from Mr. Butler with his well wishes. 

Jack accepted the package graciously, taking time to unwrap it there while the young couple continued on with their conversation. When Phryne’s name was brought up once more, Jack took that moment to inquire of her well being.

“She’s quite alright,” Dot said easily with a soft smile. “But she’s been rather busy.”

“Huge case, I imagine,” Jack offered in the most casual manner he could.

“Oh, no,” the young lady answered. “Miss Fisher hasn’t been able to take any cases since the Sisters of St. Agnes.”

“Sisters of St. Agnes…the monastery?” Jack’s eyebrows shot up, glancing at Hugh who nodded at him as he ate some biscuits contently on the side. “She was hired by cloistered nuns? How on earth did they even know of her? They barely interact with the outside world.” 

Dot nodded, “Mrs. Stanley is a patron and they needed help from, er, a female detective.”

“Oh, of course,” Jack nodded in understanding, quite aware of the reputation of that particular order. He gave Dot a small friendly smile, “So no new cases?”

“No, I’m afraid not,” Dot seemed almost disappointed by that. “It’s Mrs. Stanley, you see. Ever since Miss Fisher missed the Children’s Hospital event, she’s been trying to make up for it by helping her with the some of her engagements.” She seemed to frown slightly at that, “She was quite furious with Miss Fisher so she has been spending some nights at Rippon Lea...that is, Mrs. Stanley’s home.”

That surprised Jack. He couldn’t imagine Phryne so willingly leaving herself in such close proximity of her aunt, much as she held her in high regard. And she certainly didn’t seem the remorseful type when it came to disappointing the old woman. Jack observed Phryne almost seemed to revel in it, poking at the bear that was her dear aunt, delighting in getting her goat each time. Still, if the older woman was furious enough, he supposed Phryne would know better than to push her luck. If she was as upset as Dot thought, that would explain why she was suddenly so solicitous of her aging aunt.

“Well, if anyone can appease a furious Mrs. Stanley, it should be Miss Fisher,” Jack offered kindly which made the young lady beam with pride. “And after that, I’m sure she’ll be back into it in no time,” Jack lifted the parcel in her direction once more. “Thank you again for the biscuits, Miss Williams. Please do give Mr. Butler my fondest regards.”

Dot smiled, “Of course, Inspector. I shall pass it along.”

He gave her a small smile and another quiet thanks and returned to his office, closing the door behind him quietly as he contemplated what he just learned. It would seem Phryne’s attentions were well and truly occupied, which explained her absence in the criminal side of things in Victoria. Dot was obviously quite concerned about her mistress being indisposed by her aunt but only because her passion for playing detective was being sidelined. 

Then again, if anyone had enough power to truly ground Phryne, it might as well be the indomitable Mrs. Prudence Stanley. He thought back to his last encounter with the society matron, remembering that she did seem quite displeased with Phryne’s absence from the event. He wondered how furious the woman had to be for Phryne to finally concede to her wishes and actually work at getting back in her good graces. He didn’t think the raven haired self-styled detective cared that much though he didn’t envy her position in the slightest.

Unpacking the biscuits from the parcel it came in, Jack pulled out his cookie tin and placed the fresh Anzac biscuits inside along with the contents already in it. In the last fourteen days, he had found himself with more than enough cookies to last now that there was nobody to steal them from the secret hiding place in his desk.

He ignored the heaviness he felt at the thought as he tucked the tin back in place and pulled out the next file on his docket. He paid no mind to the sudden pit that seemed to suddenly form out of nowhere in his stomach, pretending it wasn’t there and it didn’t bother him. 

On the fifteenth day of his solitude, Jack Robinson began to studiously ignore the pangs of doubt that began to form in the back of his mind. As a child, he remembered his mother telling him to be careful of making wishes, that they might come true. He’d laughed her off as only a little boy could, wondering out loud what was so bad about wishes coming true. Isn’t that why we made wishes in the first place? She just smiled at him and told him she hoped he would never have to find out.

Jack wondered if he was beginning to understand exactly what his mother meant.

o0o

He blinked and suddenly a month had gone by.

Thirty days came and went and before Jack knew it, he was thirty days older and the files on his desk seemed to somehow get thicker. His rhythm stayed as it was, keeping up with the day to day challenges that came with running the City South Police Station in Victoria as well as running point on several cases, most of them directed to him specifically by the Chief Commissioner from within Russel Street Police Headquarters. He slept at home, ate and went to work. 

During the weekends, if he wasn’t caught up in a case, he was lucky to have a quiet day in and decompress with a good book and work on his garden. Now and then, he would have some friends come by and offer to drag him off for a pint. Most of the time, he declined politely and only accepted the invitation if he felt he was about to offend those who truly meant well. He never stayed long, only enough to finish a couple of drinks before heading for home. The solitude that awaited him was becoming more and more of a comfort.

Not once in those thirty days did he come across the raven haired lady detective. He’d heard through Hugh that there was a burgeoning mystery where several cases were being directed to various locations throughout Victoria. He wondered what that meant at first until he crossed paths with a fellow officer of equal rank from the City Central who informed him his station had been getting diverted calls from the office of The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher.

Not Phryne Fisher, lady detective, rather _The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher_. They seemed noticeably specific with that, which only served to baffle Jack even more. There were more and more people coming forward, people in need of assistance and victims in need of an advocate. Most of them seemed to go straight at the appropriate station who had the right jurisdiction and a specific investigator in mind, claiming they were directed to go there. 

Initially, it confused the hell out of the desk sergeants especially when small white cards began to be produced and handed in with the complaints. It simply had name and title printed in thin black letters as if that was all the explanation needed to mobilize them into investigating. The first few times the stations ignored such cards and the people in need who produced them, they received a call straight from Russel Street with swift a kick up the backside. This hadn’t happened in City South yet so they were unaware of these somewhat odd occurrences.

Other stations around Victoria were well aware of the trend though and had learned not to ignore the little cards. They never met the titled woman who was producing them nor did they have an inkling as to why she was doing so and how she kept finding so many people who needed help. But Jack knew and he explained it to his colleague what little of it he knew of which wasn’t much.

Jack wasn’t sure if Phryne was out of the detective business but it seemed people didn’t care either way. He certainly hadn’t heard from Hugh if Dot was back in the streets with her employer but this new development certainly gave him a clue. If Phryne was no longer playing detective then she was helping people in other ways. How she managed to get Russel Street to pay attention, he wasn’t sure but apparently, she had. The Commissioner certainly made no mention of this to him though they really didn’t interact much unless he had a bone to pick with Jack. And as far as he could tell, his boss hadn’t felt the need to yell at him in over a month.

He almost went to Dot again, planned to employ the same tactics as before but found he couldn’t. It didn’t feel right fishing information from someone so innocent and unaware. He wasn’t even sure if Dot was aware of the breakdown of his friendship with her mistress. Surely she wouldn’t be so open and friendly if she knew just what had transpired between them much less offer information he most likely would no longer be privy to. He felt bad enough the first time around with the biscuits so Jack diverted his attention elsewhere.

The next opportunity came when Dr. Elizabeth MacMillan agreed to take on the Medical Examiner’s position with the City South Police Station. She was the replacement they decided to bring into the department, a move which surprised Jack but accepted readily, not because of his own personal agenda but because he truly appreciated her talents as a medical professional. He knew Mac, trusted her instincts and respected her work and he could certainly see himself working well with her and made sure the men under his command knew this for a fact. Discrimination was strong among the ranks and he knew there were a lot of them who wouldn’t take kindly to being assigned a female doctor for cases they deemed unfit for women to be exposed to.

Jack didn’t even wait for a body to drop before approaching the doctor in her newly acquired office. Of course, by then she was elbow deep in a dead man’s chest cavity but that didn’t deter him at all in his pursuit.

“Isn’t this an interesting turn of events,” Mac muttered, barely glancing from the body she was engrossed with. “Good morning, Inspector.”

“Good morning,” he rumbled, tilting his head sideways to observe what the doctor was doing. “Is this a bad time?”

“I don’t suppose so,” Mac said, looking up with a grim smile. “He’s not getting any deader, that’s for sure. Anything I can do for you today, Inspector Robinson?”

“Jack, please,” he waved a hand dismissively.

She smirked, “If you insist.”

“I do, actually,” he gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Welcome to City South, Dr. MacMillan.”

“Why, thank you, Jack,” she replied jovially as she grabbed the open flaps of the chest area of the corpse and carefully closed them. “And in the spirit of fairness, it’s Mac. Got a case for me?”

“Uh, no, not yet,” he replied, leaning back against the wall by the door. “Just thought I’d come by and welcome you properly. I must say, it’s quite the coup acquiring a doctor of your caliber.”

“You flatter me, Jack,” Mac said dryly though she offered him a small kind smile of appreciation. “But make no mistake—I’m only here for the money.”

His eyebrows shot up, surprised. Did morgue attendants get paid that much? He didn’t think so. The last one made that clear enough after packing off, complaining of their failure to recognize his worth. What an utter blowhard, he thought unkindly.

Mac seemed to be a mind reader though, “Oh, no. Not like that. I exchanged one year of my services to have a grant application approved for some highly advanced research I’m working on.”

Jack was suitably impressed by that, “That seems like an interesting exchange.”

“It is, actually,” Mac responded easily. “It’s a lot easier to study bodies when they’re dead and that’s exactly what I get in this position. Granted, they might not always be the freshest...” she nodded in the direction of her corpse of the day. “Or the cleanest or the—well, you get the point—but they’ll do. Any data I can gather will help my research in the long run so I say it’s a win/win for me.”

“A coup indeed,” Jack mused, a genuine smile adorning his usually stoic features. “I think you’ll fit right in, doctor.”

Mac gave him a serene smile before slowly shaking her head. She slipped off her blood covered gloves and tossed them in the bin then took off her leather apron and hung it on a hook on one side of the room. She covered the corpse with the white sheet they delivered it with and washed up, keeping one eye on her visitor and Jack did everything he could not to squirm under her silent scrutiny, willing himself not to give anything away. Inwardly, he thought she might’ve made for an interesting investigator with those lasers she called her eyes.

“There’s a pie cart across the street,” she finally declared once she decided she was suitably cleaned, shrugging off her doctor’s coat and exchanged it with one that matched her trousers. She slipped her fedora on and motioned for him to head towards the door, “Why don’t we grab a bite so you and I can discuss the real reason why you decided to seek me out, Jack. I think you and I are due for a discussion.”

He was a smart man and he knew when he was caught so Jack simply shrugged, offered his arm which she took gladly and the two freshly minted colleagues headed out the door together to grab some lunch. The pie cart actually had good food and conveniently down the street there was another cart that served all sorts of drinks that proved far more enjoyable than the tea at the precinct. It was as close as they were going to get to a respectable luncheon fit for the working crowd.

Not that Jack cared too much about the food and drink.

o0o

“You are a creature of habit.”

Jack looked up, frowning slightly as he looked at the doctor seated across from him. They both got their meat pies and drinks and decided the best place to have their conversation was his office. It would provide them the privacy they needed as well setting for an enjoyable if slightly awkward meal. And should anyone see them together behind closed doors, it could be easily explained away as two colleagues having a working lunch together.

Mac had hung her fedora next to his by the door and was now eyeing the room with some amount of curiosity. Her eyes found his once she was done and she gave him a knowing smirk, “You are.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked after swallowing a particularly large bite. He was a lot hungrier than he realized and was glad he ordered two instead of one.

“This place hasn’t changed a bit,” Mac answered simply. “Not since you arrested me.”

“Was it supposed to?” he looked around, finding himself sufficiently satisfied with his environment.

“Maybe. I move things around my offices all the time.”

“Then how do you find…anything?”

She looked mildly amused by his obvious confusion, “I remember where I put things…don’t you?” 

He rolled his eyes, “I’ve been here a while and don’t plan on going anywhere. I don’t see a need to change things. They’re where they need to be.”

Mac snorted at that, “Oh, you military types are cut from the same cloth.”

Jack chose to ignore that, “How’s your pie?”

She gave him a disbelieving look, “Out of all the questions you have for me, you’re asking me about pie? Bollocks, Jack! You went looking for me to woo me for information.”

Jack rolled his eyes, tossing a used napkin on his desk, “Fine. Yes. I have some...questions and I really don’t want to have to go to Miss Williams for them.”

An impeccably groomed eyebrow shot up at that, “Oh, why not? She sees Phryne more than I do; she’d have more information surely.”

“She’s...” Jack paused, frowning slightly as he chose his words before giving up altogether. “I feel bad manipulating her for information, alright? Doesn’t seem right.”

“But you’re fine manipulating me?”

“Manipulate you? You saw me coming fifty yards off!”

“Damn right I did.”

Jack hung his head, “So I don’t need to manipulate you.”

“But you’ll needle me into betraying one of my dearest and oldest friends instead?”

“What? No!” Jack sat forward, as if he truly found it insulting that she thought that about him. “Of course not. I wouldn’t ask you to betray her confidence.”

“Oh? Then why are we here, Jack?” she seemed to particularly enjoy saying his name. Mac was a lot like a cat, lazily batting around her helpless prey with her paws to amuse herself. And Jack Robinson was beautifully flustered, though not easily so and she could see why Phryne gravitated towards him.

“I bumped into an acquaintance from City Central,” he started slowly, wiping the corner of his mouth with a clean napkin. “Someone’s been directing people who need help to different stations and they’ve been walking in carrying a card with her name.” He paused, “Not the card she used for her work. A different one—it has her title on it.”

One corner of the doctor’s mouth curled up in as she took a neat sip of her tea before leaning back in her seat. “Finally caught wind of that, did you?”

“So, I’m correct to assume you are aware of this?” he raised an eyebrow at her.

“Of course, I am,” the doctor snorted derisively. “She’s been handing them out to, let’s say, potential clients.”

Jack’s brows furrowed in confusion, “So... she’s still working? As a detective?”

“No, not since the nuns,” Mac replied, her arms resting on the sides of the chair. “She says she’s not ‘officially’ out of the game but with Prudence on her back, it’s been hard to give the cases coming her way the attention she feels they deserve.” 

Jack leaned back in his seat with a furrow on his brow, “Am I to understand she’s been telling them to go to the police?”

“It’s a case by case basis,” Mac shrugged. “She does what she can, directing clients to the places they’re most likely to get help that they can go to. The ones that involve actual crimes she and Dot direct to the proper stations with the proper jurisdiction, hence the cards. The ones she feels the police won’t give proper attention to due to lack of any clear criminal element or otherwise, she directs to reputable private detectives she has personally vetted and approved of.”

“This has been going on since the St. Agnes case?”

Mac nodded though she seemed almost bored with the conversation, “Pretty much. Prudence has been dragging her around all over town to one event after another. Honestly, the Fleuri sisters are about ready to collapse from the amount of gowns Phryne has them churning out on a weekly basis.”

Jack could give a tinker’s fart about the fashion house and the sisters running it, “You mean to tell me Miss Fisher hasn’t worked on a single case in a month and a half?”

“Hmm...” Mac thought for a moment. “Yes, now that you mention it.”

“That can’t be right,” he muttered. “It’s...impossible.”

“Is it really?” the doctor wondered. “Phryne’s been quite a hit with the cream of Melbourne society. She’s raised thousands of pounds for various charities and she’s already a member of nearly half the boards Prudence also happens to sit on.” She paused, seeming rather bored with the information she was parting with. “Not to mention the various universities that are currently fighting for her patronage which she’ll probably only bother with if it involves securing a position for Jane, should she decide to stay in the country for university.”

Jack eyes were so wide, they were about ready to bug out of his head. “Miss Fisher?”

Mac gave him a wan smile, “Yes, Jack. Phryne.” She straightened the cuff on her right wrist, “And if you are wondering, yes. She and your Commissioner are quite well-acquainted now after they officially met at one of those charity things. That’s how she’s getting Russel Street to give those stations the nudge they need into accepting her clients.”

He felt his stomach drop, wondering how he didn’t figure that out for himself, “Oh.”

She motioned towards the folded newspaper on his desk, “If you really wanted to get updates on her, all you needed to do was open the society pages. They’ve been quite good at tracking her movements.”

“I don’t really make a habit of reading the society pages and gossip columns,” Jack muttered, rubbing the side of his head with the tips of his fingers.

“Maybe you should give it a shot,” Mac suggested with a wicked grin. “Then you wouldn’t be so behind the times.”

Jack shook his head, “It’s...well, I suppose if she’s happy with what she’s doing then that is admirable. I’m sure she makes a lot of difference in people’s lives raising money for such endeavors.”

“Oh, sure,” Mac rolled her eyes. “Because we don’t have enough of those in this town.”

He ignored that hard sarcastic edge of her tone. “Those little cards...with her name—the ones the other stations received,” Jack said, frowning slightly. “We didn’t get any of those here.”

The doctor didn’t immediately respond, giving him a long, measured look for a moment before giving him a small, sad smile, “Because she knew they weren’t necessary.”

Jack looked at her, understanding her words and nodded slowly as he mentally shook off the lingering doubts that were whispering to him in the back of his head once more, “Have you spoken with her?”

“Some,” Mac answered simply. “Her schedule seems to be rather full of Prudence’s many, many events.”

“But you’ve seen her, haven’t you?”

“You mean aside from the society pages she’s always splashed around these days?” she gave him a smirk. “A few times during events involving the hospitals I’m affiliated with.”

“How…” he started, frowning slightly at himself. “How is she?”

“Seems alright,” the doctor shrugged. “I told her to blink three times if she was being held against her will. She swore she was fine. She claims she has graciously offered to step in for Prudence in some meetings and soirees as Arthur hasn’t been in the best health these days.”

Remembering Phryne’s obvious fondness for her cousins, Jack’s brows furrowed with concern, “Arthur? Is he alright?”

“He’s always had a bad heart,” Mac answered solemnly. “He’s getting the best treatment money can buy but he depends on Prudence for everything so Phryne has stepped in to take some responsibility off her shoulders and ease her worries.”

“That’s very generous of her,” Jack said quietly. “I had no idea Arthur was unwell.”

“Well, you’ve been…busy,” Mac’s eyes were wide with feigned innocence. “She’s also taken a more active part in Jane’s life, driving her to and from school and joining her to visits with her mother at that treatment facility they checked her into.”

“She seems quite busy indeed,” he observed quietly. “Though I am happy to hear she and Jane are growing closer.”

“Phryne trying to keep herself on the right mind in all of it, of course,” Mac made a face. “Motherhood is horrendous…the constant worrying and the anxiety, but lucky Jane seems to be a good girl with a good head on her shoulders.”

“I didn’t think she’d have anything to worry about Jane,” he said thoughtfully. “But you’re right. She is a good girl.”

“Don’t you worry yourself over it, inspector,” Mac grinned. “You won’t have any dames knocking your door down in tears from familial worries and frightful dreams anytime soon, I don’t think.”

Jack gave her a dark look, “I’m not sure I follow…”

Mac gave him a knowing look, “Of course not.”

Jack tilted his head back, casting his eyes onto the ceiling of his office before returning his attentions to his companion. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his blotter and folded his hands together in front of him. He looked at the good doctor, their eyes meeting straight and true until he finally said quite simply, “You know, don’t you?”

“Not everything,” she admitted with a slight tilt of her head. “But yes, I do…what little of it she was willing to admit to.”

“It was the Haynes case,” he found himself saying before he could stop himself. “I believe you knew her.”

“Gerty,” Mac nodded with a flash of sadness, not for the loss of one of their club members but for their friend Ailsa Wilton who was now incarcerated and awaiting trial. “It was a tragedy…for everyone involved, it seems.”

Jack looked down, for a moment and nodded, “It was…but also somewhat inevitable, considering those involved.”

Mac tilted her head sideways and raised an eyebrow, “You suppose so?”

“There’s only so much recklessness that can exist between parties before someone gets hurt,” he tried to sound nonchalant though he acutely felt he was failing. “Sometimes the safest option in a situation like that is to remove oneself altogether lest a collision occur.”

She gave him a dubious look, “You really believe that?”

“Is it so surprising?”

“Yes, actually,” she answered darkly. “I never took you for a coward.”

He shrugged, “If it’s cowardly to want to avoid pain, then perhaps, yes, I must be a coward.”

Mac leaned forward in her seat, studying him intently and her sharp eyes pierced his, “This—coming from a man who volunteered for a war thousands of miles away from home?”

“Some lessons are learned the hard way.”

o0o

It took three days before he finally gave in.

Late at night in the darkness of his office, Jack had just wrapped up the last of the day’s paperwork when his hand brushed against an abandoned copy of the day’s paper. Apart from reading the front page and the main articles, he studiously ignored the rest of the pages in the thick bundle. Ever since that discussion with Mac, he hadn’t been able to help but linger near the last pages of the newspapers each day after. He hadn’t given in, absolutely refused, steeling his resolve. 

He had decided that the best way to get out from under the oppressive phantom of her presence was to purge himself of everything that reminded him of her. He couldn’t very well get rid of his job but he could get rid of the cookies and the tin he kept it in. He had given the goods to his men and tucked away the tin in the back of his kitchen cupboard at his home. He moved his docket to the righthand side of his desk and kept the drinks in hidden in a cupboard along with the glasses. The photos of a once adored set of mugshots he used to keep close were now filed deeply in the back of a cabinet down the hall in the records room, sealed and marked with red ink. He had been tempted to burn them but he found that he couldn’t. Instead, he tucked them away where he knew he would never have to lay eyes on them again.

Jack thought he had done well for at least forty-eight hours but it appeared his resolve still needed fortifying. Not knowing if it was out of spite or simply for her own amusement, Mac had sent him a packet containing the day’s paper with a clever note telling him now was a good time to get behind the times. He lasted the whole morning and the rest of the afternoon without even touching the damned packet, but that night, after he knew he was too exhausted to think straight after finishing a ton of paperwork, he reached his limit.

He was not much different from a pathetic junkie looking for a fix, itching to get his hands on what was clearly bad for him just to find some relief. So, in what he decided was his curiosity and nothing else, it got the best of him. He reached for the newspaper and opened where he knew the dreaded society pages were and braced himself for what he might find. He didn’t bother guessing, thinking that he might as well face whatever lay ahead instead of torturing himself with imagined scenarios and lotharios.

Flipping through the pages until he found the column he knew photos by the inexorable Frank Burn were usually published, Jack quickly found what he was searching for. Right there on one side of the whole page, an entire feature catalogue of the always impeccably dressed and photogenic Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher. It seems she’d done well in feeding the appetites of the avid and often intrusive photographer as she was splashed throughout the page in what were obviously different events, times and days.

There were several photos and the topmost part of the page gleefully declared the never-ending adventures of the young socialite. There was a grand dinner from Tuesday night where she was quite beautifully dressed in a full-length gown and decked in fine jewels for a party honoring a few doctors at St. Jude’s Hospital (Mac was among these doctors), a private party on Wednesday with the city’s wealthiest circles to promote a new project for the Victoria Museum, a costume cleverly hidden in a luxurious silk cocoon cape for a fancy dress ball with the younger set of aristocrats the night before and a beautiful dark dress of appropriate length that did little to hide her sensuality for an evening soiree to raise funds for an orphanage earlier in the week.

Near the bottom of the page, there was also a belated mention of a luncheon from Monday where she arrived smartly dressed in a well-cut silk suit with tapered trousers that hugged her figure in the right places and made her legs look a mile long. This, according to sources for Frank Burn, seemed to cause a flood of telephone inquiries to the House of Fleuri for the exact same pair of trousers from wealthy women who had suddenly caught the bug that was once quite reviled. It seemed the fashion plate was set on to trend-set for the jet set of Victoria’s high society.

There were a lot of writeups about the daughter of the Baron of Richmond Upon Thames, cousin of the King of England, and most of them involved how she had taken Melbourne by storm and how, for the last month, had done a spectacular job raising awareness for causes she held near and dear to her heart. There was also a mention of a foundation she had launched that was geared towards helping severely injured soldiers who survived the Great War in need of assistance and as well as providing for nurses who served during the time as well. The aim was to provide to those who sacrificed for King and Country and came home only to fall on hard times. It was a personal project, very close to the heart of the Honourable Miss Fisher and it was lauded and supported by the city, most especially by the Victoria Police Chief Commissioner who had lost a beloved son to the war.

Jack sat engrossed, his eyes bouncing around the page as he took in one photo after another. Phryne was still just as beautiful as the last time he’d set his eyes on her. Her eyes shown bright even in the black and white pages and her smile was as gracious and stunning as it ever was. She was always dressed to stun and didn’t at all seem putout to have Frank Burn dogging her steps and latching on to her shadow to capture her in film wherever she went. Jack couldn’t take his eyes off of her and he found he didn’t want to. After not seeing a glimpse or a whisper of her in so long, those photos were like miracle rain to a half-dead wanderer in a barren desert. He drank it all in and found he could not stop, could not find himself sated enough to cease.

He took in each photo, cataloging each smile, each frozen gesture—her youth and beauty suspended in time forever in these pages. Jack knew he was lost and accepted that maybe, he would never be truly be able to let her go. How easily she could enrapture him without being in the same room, just in photos taken with no intent to seduce or beguile, just her simply being. It was so incredibly effortless for her, drowning him.

Not knowing how long he sat there staring like a lost fool, Jack was relieved to have at least succumbed while alone in his locked office in an empty building. He wouldn’t have known what to do had someone caught him staring at a newspaper like a lovesick idiot. Oh, how easily she could play him, how immense was her power over him still. His heart broke knowing he might never be closer than this to her now, knowing it was by his own doing.

He drowned himself in her image, uncaring if this was unhealthy or far removed from what was deemed proper or noble. Compared to what he had been forced to let go of, to give up, surely whatever entity fit to damn him would accept this small piece of solace? Jack didn’t think he cared either way. These colorless, grainy, frail thin photographs were the closest thing he’d come to comfort, to having some sense of relief in over a month—relief which he did not even know he sought. And what morsel of comfort it brought him, he held on to, finding himself unable to hold back a smile as he looked at one photo of her smiling very happily, pretending her smile was for him.

Though he lost himself in those images, allowing his soul to be fed after being left hungry by him for far too long, he couldn’t help his observational skills from taking flight. Phryne looked breathtakingly lovely, in good health and high spirits in each frame. It didn’t seem to matter if it was night or day or if she had been out all night or all week, she was always unfailingly radiant. Jack took some comfort in that, knowing despite the pain he might have caused her, she was thriving without him and had found something that would feed her hunger for adventure and life. And while his generous thoughts were flowing for her, he could not help but take some comfort for himself because there seemed to be one detail in the photographs that seemed to hold as a common thread through each and every one of them and it was that she was alone and without an escort for all of them.

He had never known her to care before who she was seen with. He wasn’t so arrogant enough to think she was taking care not to be caught on his account but he understood this was a change in how she operated. Why she would suddenly be so reticent about male company, he wasn’t sure, but he wouldn’t lie to himself and pretend he didn’t appreciate it. He wasn’t sure if he was prepared to see her with someone, not at the moment, which was why he avoided the papers as he had. Phryne attracted attention wherever she went and a part of him hadn’t been ready to see her move on so quickly from whatever it was they had between them. 

Jack felt his soul lighten at the thought then chastised himself, folding back the papers carefully. He didn’t have a right to feel good about her perceived affections towards him anymore. He’d been the one to cut ties with her, made the decision all on his own and he let her go. He’d gone on his own way to spare himself of whatever pain awaited him at the inevitable dissolution of their partnership. He had no right to think about who may or may not be occupying her time, not anymore. He certainly had no right to feel negatively or otherwise should she decide to take on a new paramour and parade him around in public like a prize to her heart’s content.

Still, with that thought Jack found that he had never felt so joyous and wretched all at the same time in his entire life.


	4. Chapter 4

Time had gone by and she could honestly say she barely felt it.

Ever since she found herself on the receiving end on what had to be one of the most hideous tongue-lashing Prudence Stanley had ever doled out in her life, Phryne found herself feeling a true sense of remorse for disappointing the old matron. It was one thing to poke fun at the prickly old dear, it was quite another to find out she had truly offended her and hurt her feelings when she failed to make her appearance at the Windsor Hotel for their event. It had been absolutely ghastly, seeing the hurt underneath all the bluster and for once, Phryne found herself genuinely willing to appease her beloved aunt.

There were very few people in her family that Phryne Fisher would willingly claim to be of relation to and Prudence was one of them. She remembered fondly those years when she and Jane were still little and the Stanleys would open their homes to the Fishers for the holidays. Those were the lovely times she could remember outside of her adventures with her little sister and despite the rough edges of her stern aunt, she was never selfish with them and treated them equally as she would her own children. Of course, she was always the same nit-picking woman of high standards but Phryne learned, much later in life, that she did mean well, even with the sharp tones in her voice and the critical looks.

Phryne had been honestly surprised at the level of rage the woman seemed to concentrate on her when she made her appearance a few days later at Rippon Lea, ready to apologize and explain her absence. Prudence hadn’t even given her a chance, pouncing on her the moment she laid eyes on her and Phryne had been frozen in place during the ambush. Her aunt had been furious, incredibly so, and let loose her anger and disappointment in a way that only she ever could. It had felt rather disproportionate for an indiscretion as simple as missing a dinner and Phryne sought to defend herself, only to find that was nothing short of throwing gasoline into a raging fire.

It took a while to calm the old woman down enough to have a proper discussion and for Phryne to finally find a way to explain herself properly. She had never meant to miss the event and had, in fact, been looking forward to giving her time and effort to such a worthy cause. Prudence had been infuriated, thinking her niece had so callously brushed aside her reminders to make her appearance and give the matter a proper attention. She had thought Phryne was playing one of her naughty tricks again, baiting her into a reaction like she often did and had found that to be genuinely offensive when her intentions had been sincere and pure. It was for the children, couldn’t she understand that? It was unacceptable and cruel to Prudence, finding the young woman’s insolence and ungrateful behavior more abhorrent and had come very close to writing her off altogether and wash her hands of her.

But Phryne did have her reasons and she had done a valiant job of swallowing her own anger and found it in herself to ignore the insulting and hurtful words her aunt had thrown in her direction. Her judgment had been very harsh and quite unforgiving and Phryne would have been fit to walk away but Prudence was family. She couldn’t face simply turning her back on her for a simple misunderstanding and hurt feelings.

Phryne had been at the House of Fleuri on the day of the event, doing a final fitting for the last-minute gown she’d had them made especially for the dinner. It had just been her and the Fleuri sisters at the salon as they had blocked off the time especially for her to make sure all was well with her gown. Phryne had been standing with one of the new seamstresses, explaining how she would like one last adjustment around the waist when the young girl had let out a yelp and stepped back from her in surprise. She hadn’t known it then but while she had been trying to straighten her skirts, her nose had begun to bleed.

It had started off as a trickle, so very dark and red, coming out of her left nostril. This startled the girl so much, she’d pricked herself with her own needle and initially, Phryne had been worried for her until the girl pointed at her face in shock. By the time she was able to look at her reflection in the mirror, still dressed in the lovely new gown, the blood was slowly making its way down her upper lip, leaving a ghastly dark trail of blood on her pale skin. 

Phryne had tried to wipe it away quickly with the handkerchief the girl had generously offered her but the sooner she had begun to wipe it off, another stream seemed to follow right after. She hadn’t been worried, but the steady flow did concern her if only for the fear of staining her new frock. When the girl realized the bleeding wasn’t abating as she promised it would, she’d run off and sounded the alarm. The Fleuri sisters, fresh from the trauma of recently having one of their valued customers murdered in their salon by one of their own people, had jumped into action, fearing a repeat of the horrid event. 

Simone Fleuri had let out a scream when she found Phryne on the cabriole sofa, stripped down to her French silk camisole and knickers, her head tilted back and holding the once pristine white floral handkerchief now red with blood on her side, thinking someone had done away with her as well. Simone’s sister, Renee, had been close behind and had reacted badly all the same. The sisters were close to panic when Phryne finally forced herself to get up while still keeping her head back to show them she was alright. 

If the situation hadn’t been so mortifying, Phryne could have laughed it off. But the bleeding had been annoyingly persistent and Renee assisted her to the washroom after Simone secured her in a robe, barking at her assistant to prepare to call for a doctor. Phryne had washed her face, apologizing for the distress and the ruined handkerchief, but insisted no doctor need be called. 

All in all, it had taken nearly half an hour before Phryne could make sure there wasn’t anything to be alarmed about. Nosebleeds weren’t much of a concern, not for her and she had assured the sisters she was alright. She’d called for Cecil Yates and Albert Johnson, better known as Cec and Bert, requesting to be taken home while one of them drove her motorcar for her. Aside from the spontaneous bleeding, she hadn’t felt much of anything at all other than a small bout of lightheadedness afterwards. 

Phryne had missed breakfast that morning in her hurry to make her appointment so the lingering lightheadedness she felt she chalked off to low blood sugar coupled with some blood loss. This she remedied easily with the generous lunch that was already waiting for her at home. She didn’t tell any of her household of the disastrous last fitting but did inform Dot she was feeling a little under the weather as there had been questions on why she’d had the red-raggers take her and her motorcar home. She had stayed home that day and the salon had generously sent her dress to her with their warmest regards and best wishes on her health. 

In the afternoon, she found herself spending a quiet afternoon in her parlor, feeling rather ill and a ghastly migraine had come on. This concerned her household enough to convince her to give the event that night a miss and Dot had been the one to call and inform Prudence that Phryne would not be able to attend. They hadn’t informed her she was ill, as per their mistress’ instructions which had been, as it turned out, not the wisest of choices. In an attempt to avoid worrying her aunt, Phryne had instead incurred her wrath without intending to or realizing.

Her short bout of illness lingered thankfully for only a few days and Phryne made it her priority to go to Prudence first, to apologize for her absence and also inquire as to the murder that nearly derailed the event. When her aunt finally calmed down long enough to understand that she had been unable to attend due to being truly unwell, Prudence’s anger morphed from rage to honest concern. She had been skeptical at first, but Phryne’s offer of taking her to the Fleuri sisters and have them explain the whole bloody affair was enough proof, fortunately.

Still disappointed that Phryne had missed an event that Prudence had been looking forward to sharing with her, she welcomed her back into her home, apologizing for jumping to conclusions. The two women easily mended what little rift the misunderstanding had caused and they spent a lovely afternoon together. By the time Phryne had left in her own motorcar, she had pledged herself to attend the next three events on her aunt’s calendar. Normally, she would have made her excuses and begged off but seeing the earnestness on Prudence’s face and her sincere wish to have Phryne by her side, she had relented. It was only a few evenings, she could summon the energy for that, she thought. More than anything, Phryne surprised herself with the sincerity she found in her own heart, wanting to please her aunt and make up for her absence. 

That had been over three months ago and Phryne had lost count of the numerous events she had found herself attending. The first three parties had been lovely and it did lead to Prudence introducing her to quite the amount of influential people in Victoria. Being at those parties opened some surprising new doors, which led to more invitations to other events. In less than a month, Phryne found herself adapting quite wonderfully to the new circles she found herself in, getting admitted into the boards her aunt had been trying for quite sometime to get her into. 

Charity work and fundraising was never quite her forte, but Phryne seemed to thrive on the challenge of showing the cream of the Melbourne crop just how gracious and charming she could be. These were the same people who scoffed at her activities and relations and Phryne found that she quite enjoyed showing them exactly just who she was and what came with her title and bearing. 

It was amusing, getting caught in those veiled sparring sessions with women who felt she was beneath them simply because of the rumors they had heard about her. She would never admit to it, but she’d let some blood spill at the first initial contact with the cattier sort. It had been quick and efficient with the precision of a surgeon and it stopped anyone else coming for her dead in their tracks. Phryne could cut them down with a smile and a flourish, letting the survival instincts she’d learned in Collingwood as a child meld beautifully with the grace and charm her family had paid good money for her to acquire. It was, as she knew quite well, a lethal combination.

There were other thrills to be had too, fleeting as they were, where the male counterparts of those women were concerned. For all that she was, Phryne had never quite acquired the taste for happily married men though she still found some thrill watching those who pretended she had no effect on them, succumb to her charms and find themselves sufficiently denied. It was an amusing game, not quite as invigorating as investigating a murder, but it was something to pass the time along in the drearier gatherings amongst their kind. 

Phryne had not intended to linger, did not mean to extend to more than what she had promised her aunt, but by the beginning of the second month, Arthur had suddenly taken ill. It alarmed them quite immensely and Prudence found herself terrified beyond reason, unwilling to leave her son and having all sorts of doctors come to Rippon Lea and examine him. It had been harrowing, watching her poor cousin struggle with something as simple as breathing, terrified out of his wits, trying to understand why he was suffering.

Finding her aunt unable to fulfill her duties to the several organizations and groups she was a member of, Phryne graciously stepped in for her in her absence. It wasn’t something she particularly relished but she felt it her duty to do right by Prudence. She took to the tasks easily, settling any concerns and doubts people might have of Prudence Stanley’s absence and Phryne had done well to ward off any opportunistic attempts to usurp her aunt in any of her positions. It was much easier, she decided, to tackle a ruthless murderer than stave off blood-thirsty socialites. This was the sort of thing she didn’t find much enjoyment in.

The sound of gentle footsteps and silver clinks on a metal tray startled Phryne out of her thoughts as her companion entered the dining room that morning. She had gone down to breakfast quite early in anticipation of what she was hoping would be quite a lovely day. She schooled a pleasant smile on her face, running the tip of her finger along an untouched butter knife next to her hand.

“Mrs. Standish telephoned very early this morning, Miss,” Dot said as she entered, carrying a tray and placed it to Phryne’s left on the table. “She wanted to thank you for the lovely arrangement you sent to her last week.”

Ever since the incident at the salon, Phryne had been making sure she took breakfast each morning, something her household noticed but made no comment upon. They easily proved their worth with how seamlessly they incorporated this change into their daily lives which she appreciated immensely. She had the dearest people in her life and it was something she truly found herself thankful for. They were still unaware of the incident at the House of Fleuri and it had only happened twice more since so Phryne kept the matter to herself even though a part of her hated having to lie to Dot when two of her handkerchiefs had gone missing. She wasn’t sure how she would explain the blood now that she was running among more sedate circles.

“She’s sweet,” Phryne said lazily, pouring some syrup into her pancake. “Today seems rather a light day. I think I’ll go visit some shops before I pick up Jane from school. It’s going to be so nice having her home this weekend, don’t you think so, Dot?”

“It’s always nice having Miss Jane home,” Dot agreed with a sweet smile.

“Would you mind preparing the white silk blouse and trousers today?” she asked kindly. “I feel up to taking a leisurely stroll in the city. Mac’s birthday is coming up and I want to find her something stunning.”

Dot knew exactly which outfit she was planning to wear, “Won’t be a problem at all, Miss.”

“Thank you, Dot,” she smiled as she took a bite of her breakfast. “Any plans tonight with Hugh?”

“We’re going to the cinema,” the answer came with the sweet smile of a young girl in the throes of a blooming love affair. “They’re playing The Son of the Sheik.”

“Sounds exciting,” she hummed. “It’s been a while since you two had a night together. Why don’t you lovebirds enjoy dining out before going to the cinema?”

“Oh, but—”

“My treat,” Phryne offered happily. “I think I’ll offer the same to Mr. Butler. I can take Jane to Café Replique, give her a little taste of what awaits her before she heads on to Paris. What do you say, Dot?”

The girl’s cheeks were going pink, “You really don’t have to…”

“Oh, but I insist,” the raven-haired beauty beamed. “It’s been a rather busy…how long? Oh, I’ve lost count. But Aunt P has certainly been keeping me busy and consequently, you as well. We should all have at least one night off. So! It’s decided then, hmm? You and Hugh have a wonderful night and Mr. Butler…well, he’ll do what he does when he goes on his jaunts. And Jane and I will dine out. It’s perfect!”

Dot smiled gratefully, “You’re far too generous, Miss.”

Phryne waved a dismissive hand, “Let’s not quibble. I’m thinking about calling an old friend from the theater. I haven’t been in ages! Maybe Jane would like to go.”

“I’m sure she’d be delighted,” Dot nodded, refilling their cups of tea. “You two should enjoy some time together. It has been a rather busy few months for you, Miss.”

“Hmm?” 

“Oh, I mean,” Dot paused as her mistress looked up from her meal. “I was just saying…Mrs. Stanley has been inviting you to a lot of events for the last three months…?”

“Three months?” her eyes widened. “Has it been that long?”

“Since the Children’s Hospital at the Windsor?” Dot asked. “Well, around thereabouts. Maybe three months and a half if you want to be so accurate?”

Phryne paused, “Oh…I hadn’t realized. My, has it been, really?”

Her companion nodded.

“Well, it certainly hasn’t been dull,” she said thoughtfully though she was obviously preoccupied, her mind trying to think back on all the time she’d been keeping busy. “Aunt P seems to have a newfound appreciation for my skills. She’s rather enjoying watching me persuade her well-monied friends into parting with bits of their wealth.”

Dot smiled, “All in the name of doing good, I’m sure.”

“But of course.”

They shared a laugh and Dot moved back into the kitchen, leaving Phryne to the rest of her meal and her thoughts.

She couldn’t believe it had been so long. Seasons changed and she followed with her wardrobe but she hadn’t been taking note at all of the actual days as they went by. This particular kind of lifestyle seemed to be a lot more complex than she realized, less of the dreary parties and more on strategical maneuvers than she expected. It was no small feat trying to find enough donors and patrons to make something happen, even more so to get them to write a fat check and prove just how good a person they claimed to be. 

It took a considerable amount of her charms and savvy to get them to open up a bit more but Phryne found she was rather good at it. As she had told Dot, this was something that Prudence found amusing and she reveled in it. She of the renewed pride, presented Phryne to her friends and associates, leading by her title, her recent good works and newly found interest in their charitable endeavors.

Phryne Fisher easily dominated Melbourne society and found herself leading an interesting set of new acquaintances, mostly wives of wealthy men and a few independently wealthy women. She also found herself being sought out by the younger set, a group of aristocrats closer to her own age, who were now more than happy to welcome her in their circle now that she was fully embracing the status provided by her title and being the niece of the formidable Mrs. Prudence Stanley. It wasn’t the kind of life that she ever imagined herself leading but for now, it would have to do. Between her stepping in for her aunt and trying to finish projects she truly cared about, the detecting aspect of her life in the Antipodes had to be put on hold.

“Oh, excuse me, Miss, I almost forgot,” Dot said, reentering from the kitchen. “Mr. Anderson called last night while you were still out. He wanted to thank you for recommending Mr. Styles. He said the detective was able to locate his mother’s stolen jewelry.”

She smiled appreciatively, “That’s wonderful news. It looks like Mr. Styles is doing quite well with the clients.”

Dot nodded, “Yes, Miss.”

Seeing as she couldn’t go on investigations on her own, Phryne had to make contingencies of her own for her clients, finding that there were still several people who sought out her services. She liked to think the compromise she had come up with would be sufficient, striking a bargain with Victoria Police Chief Commissioner Reginald Hall and as well as finding a couple of private detectives whose services could easily be made available to her. It wasn’t the best solution but it would have to do for now as all she could do at the moment was make the best out of the situation and she hoped it would hold until she could find a way to return to her own life of adventures.

“And what of Mr. Cole?” she asked of the other detective she had on retainer whose services she had offered to her distressed childhood friend, Raymond Hirsch. A film can containing one of portion of a current project had gone missing and he was, once more, at the end of his rope trying to finish on time.

“Still looking for the missing film,” her companion answered dutifully. “Your friend Mr. Hirsch called to let you know they’ll be redoing the scenes if the film isn’t found. He’s worried they might miss the deadline.”

“Perfectly understandable,” she shrugged in response. “Why anyone would steal a can of film…well, reshoots will cost more money but it will cost more if the studio fails to deliver…Raymond can’t afford to give the American studios ammo against him if he wants to maintain the higher ground.”

“Miss White seems very comfortable in front of the camera,” Dot sighed happily. “I can’t wait to see her first movie. She really is quite good.”

“I have to agree,” her mistress answered happily. “Raymond is absolutely besotted with her. Isn’t that wonderful?”

Dot smiled, “It is.”

Phryne did miss being a detective, finding herself being rather too observant now and again, a habit she sought to break every time she found herself among her aunt’s circles. It was hard not to be too suspicious of the rich and smarmy, but she worked hard to not to look too deeply into things. If she found something possibly criminal, she would surely act on it but petty things that could be brushed aside—affairs, suspect behavior, potential shady business—she valiantly tried to stay out of. She was learning more and more to keep her nose out of things, which was a test of endurance she never expected but hoped to be passing at the very least.

In the back of her mind, Phryne ignored the nagging feeling that was slowly chipping away at her. There was a rather awful, spiteful voice telling her she was being cowardly, hiding away and pretending she was enjoying what she was doing. It constantly bit at her, telling her that the least she could do was admit to herself that she wasn’t putting in all the effort for altruistic reasons. The taunting voice told her, in the most malicious tones, that she was a creature unchanged and she would never be anything than what she was, that she could only play pretend for so long before she would break.

These were the thoughts that she drowned out constantly, engaging herself with as many individuals as she could and attended as many events as possible. On the days she had as so many invitations fitted in her schedule there was hardly a chance to breathe, she liked them best. It always left her so properly bone-tired and exhausted, drained of everything and she was almost always guaranteed she would be unconscious before her head hit the pillow on those nights. Change was good, she thought to herself, nothing stayed the same. As wonderful as things might be, more often than not, there was little choice but to move on.

If there was any other matter that she refused to acknowledge, it was pushed out of her mind completely. That was where she concentrated most of her efforts to stay indifferent, if only to keep herself from remembering what was beginning to feel like a truly great and terrible loss. Though there were times she entertained finding someone to share intimate but fleeting relations with within the crowd her aunt willingly touted her to, she dismissed it for fear that Prudence would get wind of it and incur her wrath once more. Or worst, think Phryne had found someone to settle down with from her set. Phryne sought to satiate her physical needs where she could, well and far away from the crowds she now ran with. 

Though it wasn’t often she had the chance to, not with the amount of engagements she had lined up on her calendar. When she could, Phryne sought out what suitable warm body could fill her needs. It never lasted long and it was not uncommon for her to unceremoniously throw out unsuspecting lovers before the sun could rise. This was quite a change from her lingering visitors and amorous lovers. More often than not, she met her needs as she saw fit and no longer stayed for the playful banter and pleasantries. At the core of it, she knew it was all meaningless and as long as she got what she needed, she was fine.

She kept to her new rhythm, finding ways to fit herself into her new life. It wasn’t as bad as she thought it would be and she spent considerable amounts of time and efforts convincing herself she was doing well. If now and then the doubts nipped at her, dogged her steps at one turn or another, she quashed them swiftly without much thought. There was very little comfort to be had when she was tired and drained, which was a state she rather preferred most days.

Phryne didn’t acknowledge it for what it could actually be and pretended she didn’t already know.

She was simply moving forward and that was that.

o0o

The trip had been smoother than he expected it to be.

But the weather had been good and the landing had been passable both of which he was thankful for. The de Havilland Tiger Moth held together, at the very least, which was more than he expected. When he had impulsively bought the plane from a rather frazzled American strapped for cash, he did truly think he would crash halfway out the hangar. He hadn’t expected the silver plane to be in such a good condition, considering how foolhardy its previous owner had been and how much cash he had been willing to take to part with it. Leave it to an American to lose at a crummy game of cards and leave the table in nothing but his shirt. Still, he was no fool and a good bargain was hard to say no to.

He took it as a sign, his good fortune. He had been considering going to the Antipodes, just to see for himself just how serious the claims of the very drunk but very chatty Guy Stanley had been. They’d crossed paths at Colombo when his passenger ship bound for England had docked and he and his new bride decided to take in the scenes. Of course, that meant they just sought out every public house within the radius of the ship and spent whatever free time they had swimming in giggle water and floating with hash.

It had been him who sought to secure the couple and make sure they weren’t left behind. It did little good to have the roaring Stanleys stuck in a foreign land with barely their wits about. He didn’t want to be left babysitting the excitable duo, which was surely the inevitable end had he not made sure to deliver the babbling lot into the hands of the ship’s captain. It would do no one any good to have such a prominent couple go missing. The international scandal it could potentially cause was enough to make anyone’s skin crawl. 

As always, Guy had been generous, not just with his hash, but with his stories.

He had never been to the colonies before, but it had been a curiosity of sorts. Ever since he met a scrap of a girl all those years ago, too angry to smile and too devasted to care, he’d found the foreign land to be quite the mysterious uncharted curiosity that even his own adventures had not been able to quell. He has spent the better part of the last few years moving from place to place, mapping out his own adventure and trying to understand exactly what he was looking for. He wondered if the answers lay in the last place he’d ever truly given the consideration it deserved.

Certainly, it had been serendipitous, to have found himself languishing in the same public house as Guy Stanley. The chatty aristocrat had been so full of stories, he had the whole room in his thrall. Tales of his infamous cousin with the gold revolver who took down serial killers and murderers for a living in the wilds of Australia left him an enraptured crowd. A beautiful, young titled heiress with more than jewels and gowns to show for her time on this plane, ready to take on anyone and anything. It sounded like something out of a book, full of adventure and real danger. The mere thought of it was so thrilling though it did little to surprise him.

A lady detective.

How incredibly fitting, he thought and it brought a fond smile on his handsome face. It had been years since he’d last seen her but he knew for certain she would be unchanged. He had very little doubt she would be just as breathtaking, just as daring and possibly an even bigger magnet for trouble than she ever was as a young girl. He should have known there would be no denying his fate the moment he heard her name uttered drunkenly that warm night in Colombo.

She had taken down the man who had killed her sister and secured his demise with the rope to hang. It had been her most fervent wish, he knew, and he was so very proud of her. She had found her sister and brought her home and for everything he was, he could not imagine the amount of strength and resolve that took to make happen and not shatter into pieces. She was always the stronger one, this he had always known.

There wasn’t much he regretted in his life, not the scars left on his body from the Great War, not the home he had chosen to leave behind and not the parentage that he knew changed the course of his family’s legacy. He missed his brother dearly and he missed his homeland, but the years he had spent searching and moving had been good to him. The war had left him in pieces and it had been that final push to leave that helped him find himself again, not as he was before but as the man his trials and tribulations had left him as.

It helped him understand who he had become and helped him accept that he had a different place in the world. There was a certain peaceful quality to the nomadic life he lived—it wasn’t always the most luxurious and it was sometimes perilous but it was a constant rhythm he truly thrived in. There was no longer the rigidity that came with being the son of someone or the brother of someone. He was free to be exactly as he wanted and follow his own desires and forge his own path. So far, he liked where his journey was taking him.

Traveling throughout the continents had done him well but he had missed flying and the de Havilland Tiger Moth had been the perfect plane to get to know the skies with again.

He had missed the exhilaration of it, the seductive feel of weightlessness. The air was different up in the skies, heavy and light at the same time, terrifying and invigorating all at once. Funnily enough, it felt a lot like how it had been, being in her presence as a young man. It was a feeling he had never felt with anyone else since—though there hadn’t been many after her.

It wasn’t love, not at least how one would think. He didn’t hold an undying torch for her but she was not someone to easily forget. She was the kind of person who left a mark, with or without intending to do so and she was the kind of soul that always a left a little piece that would always linger. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, seeing her once more. They’d shared a gentle goodbye that last time—he couldn’t remember for certain if it had been her saying goodbye or him that time, but it had been a fond farewell that stayed with him for some time.

Their lives together intersected throughout the years, a kaleidoscope that involved one goodbye after another. It wasn’t bitter, it never was, for they were the kind of people who understood the utter unfairness of things and how even the most beautiful curiosities could never be invincible. Something always broke, someone always leaves and gentle goodbyes were one of the few mercies left in the world they were most capable of imparting.

No promises were ever made, it wasn’t their way. If they saw each other again, that was just a happy occurrence they would accept. If they didn’t, then there was no disappointment. He never wrote her off, but he also never wondered if he would ever see her again. Now and then she would cross his mind but it brought nothing but gentle thoughts. They appeared in and out of each other’s’ lives and whenever that happened, they welcomed it. There was no thought to timing or coincidence, it was simply as it was.

It was entirely possible this would no longer be the case now, but he was willing to find out. Should he find himself unwelcome, then he would accept it and leave. She was not cruel but she was also a woman who knew what she wanted and would always do what she deems right for herself. It was something he always liked about her, knowing he needn’t worry if she was pretending to care or putting on a show. The raw honesty of how she lived her life and how she acted on her own desires and needs was something he admired about her and traits he wished he too had possessed earlier in his life.

Leaving his plane at the hangar with one final handshake with the man he would entrust it with for the time being, he stepped out into the sun and breathed in the air as his feet planted themselves firmly on the earth. His chest expanded as he took in the air, breathing clean air and letting it send a rush through him. He took a moment to center himself, trying to get a feel of this strange new place.

There was still that heady feeling that lingered, the tips of his fingers still vibrating inside his gloves and his toes in his boots but his mind was fully in the present. On the horizon, the land was splashed with green, so very lush and rich and he welcomed the sight. He had found a good place to land upon recommendations from an Antipodean contact and had no problem negotiating for the temporary base of his new plane at a small private airfield. He was glad not to be left worrying about that and he gathered his rucksack, heading to the main building, hoping the transportation that had been arranged would come for him as promised. He hadn’t seen much on his way in, immediately understanding he wasn’t too close to the metropolitan area which was alright if he was leaving a plane behind indefinitely but not if he had no way of getting out.

He needn’t have worried though as a sleek black cab came into view, turning gracefully into the road where he was waiting. He checked his watch, noting they were mercifully early and that was something he very much appreciated. He really needed a long shower to wash the long journey off and maybe sleep until his bones felt like they were back in place. He stood up, flinching as he felt his left calf pull slightly, displeased with the lack proper rest. He really needed to get to his hotel. A long soak in a very hot bath and a good pummeling was in order.

The vehicle stopped right in front of him and two men sat out front. The one on the passenger’s seat exited, snatching his hat off his head with a kind smile. He gave an awkward wave, as if he wasn’t sure the tall, lean travelworn foreigner was the one they came for.

“Good day, gentlemen,” he greeted kindly. “I do hope you fine fellows are the ones Mrs. Stanley mentioned—a Mr. Yates and Mr. Johnson?”

The bloke who sat behind the wheel gave him the once over, chewing a toothpick at the corner of his mouth, “You the friend Mr. Guy met at C’lombo?”

“That I am,” he nodded, picking up his rucksack with his belongings—he had sent his luggage ahead and hoped they had arrived at the hotel safely.

“Sure is nice to meet one of Mr. Guy’s friends,” the other man said, still holding his hat in hand. He seemed kind and sincere enough with an easy smile. He offered to help with his bag but was politely declined. The driver was certainly rougher than the two but he took the wariness in stride. Who was ever comfortable meeting strangers in an empty field? Surely even in this wild country there were certain commonalities shared with the rest of the world. “I’m Cec, sir. This is Bert. We’ll take you to The Windsor as Mrs. Stanley instructed.”

“Excellent,” he smiled generously. “Thank you for your assistance. How is Mrs. Stanley these days?”

“Better now that Arthur is right as rain,” Cec said helpfully though he didn’t miss the warning look his suspicious companion was shooting at him. He also noted the lack of appellation used on the younger Stanley son which suggested they were familiar and possibly friendly with the gentle soul. He’d only met Arthur once when he came to England with his mother and father but he remembered the lad as quite shy and had a fondness for games.

“Oh, good to know,” he nodded. “Well, best be off, then, gentlemen.”

Bert nodded in front of the wheel, “Got anything else to bring widja?”

“Not at the moment, no,” he answered easily. “Shall we?”

Cec opened the door for him, welcoming him into their taxi. It was spacious and quite neat, which he appreciated. His took his rucksack in first before stopping by the door and offered his hand in a friendly gesture. They’d gone out of their way to give him a ride into the city and even with the gruff welcome from the half of the party, he still appreciated the gesture. He would be hopelessly lost on land without assistance and he was sure soon he would be too tired to think.

“Good to meet you, Cec—and Bert,” he shook hands with the first one then bent his head slightly to nod at the other man before returning his attentions towards his more affable partner. 

“A name would be good to have, yeah?” Bert snorted from up front. “Mrs. Stanley forgot to mention.”

“Oh, pardon me—rather rude,” he smiled ruefully. “I’m Jonathon Lofthouse. Pleasure to meet you.”

o0o

He was checked into a suite waiting for him at The Windsor Hotel.

The building was beautiful and the interior matched just as well and he found himself and his luggage suitably housed in a suite with one bedroom and a sitting area. The door had stained glass designs and he had a good view of the city from his windows. The establishment had come highly recommended by Prudence Stanley who offered to have him signed under her account but he had politely refused. He was more than happy to pay his own way.

Jonathon had informed the front desk to bar any visitors until well into the next day. In his exhaustion, he didn’t feel like eating and all he wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep for twenty hours. He missed flying but he did not miss the feeling of being zapped and completely drained, especially on long flights. There was a good reason why wingmen held such an importance. Well, it was unfortunate his brother was too far away.

He unbuttoned his white shirt and couldn’t wait to get his trousers off. He had about a few days’ worth of laundry in one of his bags that needed to be taken care of but he would leave that for tomorrow. The building could burn down and he thought he might not care. Good heavens, he was getting old.

Walking towards the bedroom and intending to make his way straight for the spacious bathroom, Jonathon stopped and let out a small curse under his breath when he heard someone knocking at the door. He moved quickly, ignoring his throbbing calf once more and opened it to find a bellboy holding a silver plate next to a maid with a tea trolley.

“Mr. Lofthouse?”

“Yes,” he took the offered embossed enveloped and eyed the trolley. It was filled with scrumptious looking sandwiches, some tarts and pastries and a pot of tea next to a pitcher of water. He frowned slightly, “I don’t believe I called for food to be brought up.”

“Courtesy of Mrs. Stanley, sir,” the boy answered and he stepped aside to let the tea lady pass through.

“Oh, please leave it where it is,” Jonathon said distractedly when he heard the sounds of clinking silverware and porcelain plates. “I’ll be alright. Thank you.”

He handed them both a generous tip, requesting once more not to be disturbed and acknowledged the kind instruction to just leave the trolley outside once he was done. He leaned back against the small but sturdy dining table set up in the suite and opened the letter, noting the initials out front. It was a beautifully made invitation for one Jonathon Lofthouse whose company was being requested for a dinner party at the home of Prudence Elisabeth Stanley on the coming Friday. Jonathon shook his head, unable to help the slight pull of irony.

Barely five minutes and he was already being roped into an imitation of the life he left behind. He couldn’t be too surprised though, remembering how Prudence was in the few times he met her. Still, she had been quite appreciative of his assistance of Guy and his wife. He assumed this was her way of thanking him properly, as if arranging accommodations for his transportation upon arrival and lodgings wasn’t enough.

Well, he thought, nothing like a pleasant dinner with some company. He still wasn’t sure how he was going about his time in Australia but starting off with some familiar faces might help. Briefly, he wondered if Phryne Fisher would be there but didn’t linger on the thought. He remembered how much she disliked her aunt, always avoiding her whenever she had the chance to and he remembered the stories. The woman loved to pick her only living niece apart into pieces. Prudence hadn’t mentioned Phryne at all in their brief exchange but then there was only so much one could say with telegrams. And he didn’t even dare ask.

He thought he could try and find her. Surely there weren’t many Phryne Fishers running around in Victoria? Guy had been rather helpful while inebriated, gleefully telling him about her home not being too far from his mother’s and how she even had an adopted daughter now. That had been surprising, more than anything but he knew she had a soft spot for abandoned children. Still, it painted a bigger picture of what he might find in his journey through the Antipodes and he found he wasn’t at all deterred by it. Phryne had changed, surely, in some ways but so had he and he looked forward to how she has spent the last few years. She always promised she would return to Australia and he was glad that she had gotten her wish.

Jonathon shrugged, placing the invitation and the envelope on the table and headed towards the bathroom once more. He wasn’t sure if he would make an appearance but he had time to decide. He would need the proper clothing and arrange with the hotel for transportation should he decide to go. But some things were more important, really, like the fact that his calf was already threatening to cramp.

Removing the invitation from his thoughts, the travelworn aviator shook his clothes off easily and filled the tub. He poured whatever oils and soaps were provided generously by the establishment and slipped into the precious porcelain savior. He groaned once the hot water touched his skin, feeling his muscles loosen where it had bunched up and worn. He needed to rest and gather himself before attempting anything else. Being back on land was jarring, even more so in a strange country. 

It would be rude to refuse the invitation, Jonathon thought as he let the water slowly rise around his form. A pleasant feeling rushed through him at the thought of seeing the indomitable Phryne Fisher once more but he made sure to not let himself linger too long. He couldn’t drown himself in anticipation when the possibility of reality was so close. He was a rather patient man and he could wait a few days. His body still ached, reminding him once more how he wasn’t getting any younger and decided to focus on that instead. He wasn’t sure what awaited him at that dinner but he had more pressing matters to attend to.

Like the fact that his damned calf had indeed started to cramp.


	5. Chapter 5

The first time he noticed it, Jack didn’t give it much thought.

It was inevitable, after all, that she would be photographed with another man. After four months, the society pages no longer fawned over her but they still kept up with her movements. She became a fixture among the pages, always moving and always garnering attention wherever she went. Of course, eventually there would be a photograph with a man but Jack found it to be of no consequence. 

Eventually, he stopped kidding himself and decided reading the newspaper front to back was what normal people did. That certainly included the society pages but it wasn’t as if he could have it removed and made to disappear so Jack accepted it as part of the whole lot. Nothing wrong with reading, he thought. Nothing at all wrong with looking.  
If he tended to linger a little too long now and then on photographs of a certain toff, then that was nobody’s business but his. What was between a man and his paper was his own concern.

The second time he noticed a man in the photographs, he paused and wondered if it was the same person.

But he quickly pushed it aside and went on reading. There would be nothing to compare it to anyway—it wasn’t as if he was squirreling off pages for himself. He wasn’t that too badly off yet. Another day, another paper. Nothing new. Nothing at all.

The third time he saw the same man, he was certain it was the same man.

And that was when he began to take notice. It wasn’t on consecutive days but it was certainly the same man in the photos. Tall, lean and dressed nicely enough for someone who would run with the wealthy lot, he looked rather like he fit in with the people in the photographs that were all over the pages. He certainly looked comfortable next to The Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher who smiled beautifully on his arm. Jack tried to ignore that, studiously pretending he didn’t notice how comfortable she looked with him.

He read the caption, noting the usual flair of Frank Burns as he gleefully declared Phryne had been seen arriving at the event with her companion, First Lieutenant Jonathon Lofthouse of the British Army. They didn’t appear to have much other than innuendo but it rang false and Jack suspected this was mostly due to the fact that it was speculation and nothing more. He preferred to think he had better instincts on rag reporting rather than being in actual denial.

Jack folded the paper closed after that, pushing the thought out of his mind and headed out the door. There were loose ends on a case he wanted to tie up and it seemed rather proper to get to it sooner than later. He had actual work to do, he thought. Off he went to Little Lonsdale Street and tracked down a potential witness Hugh had been muttering about the last few hours. 

He spent the rest of his week avoiding the papers once more, burying himself in work. He kept himself quite busy and spent the days walking the streets of Victoria. He joined Hugh in his investigation and closed the case before the weekend could reach them. Jack had done well to make sure he was sufficiently distracted for the whole of that time. At home, he pretended he didn’t see the paper had been taken in by his housekeeper and never lingered at long enough to open it.

By the time Friday came around, he was down in the City Morgue again, checking on a body he had been notified on. It was fished out of the Yarra River but there was no conclusive evidence of foul play yet but he decided to try and get ahead of it and see what the coroner would think. How lucky, he thought, that it was Mac who received the body. Well, he liked her a whole lot better than the others now. She was much easier to work with and was extremely thorough with her work, especially with female victims. Jack tried not to think about how incredibly lacking her male counterparts were when it came to the female anatomy—twice now he’d caught them missing a detail that took a second opinion from Mac to get a proper read on a female victim.

“Four days,” Mac said without looking up from the body she was currently undressing. Her tools were laid out beside her and a bag was prepared for the clothes to be logged into evidence. “I had you at two—you have more restraint than I realized. Bravo, Jack.”

Jack raised an eyebrow at her even if she couldn’t see him, “The body just came in this morning.”

“Yes, because that’s what I’m talking about,” he could hear the amusement in her voice underneath the heavy sarcasm. “You’ve kept up with the times, haven’t you?”

He felt his back go straighter in reaction to being confronted so openly—really, did he expect anything less from this particular doctor? Jack knew better, “I’ve been busy.”

Through all of this, of course Mac kept on with her examination of the male corpse on her table. She revealed the man’s chest, finding a pale, sickly white expanse of unblemished skin underneath. Whatever killed the man was underneath his clothes somewhere else or maybe it could be an internal matter. There was still a chance this might just be a tragic case of drowning, an accident.

“Streets teeming with crime, I see,” Mac didn’t have to show him her face to know she was smirking. “What would Victoria do without you, Inspector?”

“They’d never have to find out,” Jack responded evenly. “Do you suspect foul play?”

“Not at the moment but that could change,” she answered easily. “I had to let the body dry out a little before getting to it. And O’Malley’s case needed to be wrapped up.” She stopped what she was doing, looking down at the body contemplatively, “He’s young though—can’t be older than eighteen. If this is a drowning, I’d like to find out if he was a swimmer. Do we have a name yet?”

“Not yet,” Jack said, looking at the victim as well. “He’s not dressed too shabbily. Someone’s bound to miss him.”

Mac nodded, “It isn’t right for someone to die so young.”

Jack agreed and took out his pen and notepad, “I’ll have Hugh check other stations, see if anyone with his description was reported missing.” He frowned, “Any idea how long he’s been in the water for?”

“Not too long,” Mac picked up the victim’s left hand, looking at it closely. “When he was brought in, I estimated he probably wasn’t in for more than twelve hours. I’m still of that opinion.”

“That’s a window to work with then,” Jack shrugged, noting the information on paper. “Anything else you can add at this time, Dr. MacMillan?”

“Not at the moment, Inspector,” the corners of her lips curled up. “Unless there’s anything else you’d like to know?”

Jack shifted from one foot to another, returning his notepad and his pen in his coat pockets. “Nothing regarding this case, at least.”

The cop and the doctor stared at each other, waiting for whoever was willing to break first. Jack couldn’t quite stomach admitting that she’d been right, that he had gone down there with very little concern for the body on her table. Mac, on the other hand, wasn’t willing to let him off the hook, enjoying watching him squirm. She hadn’t received a reply after she’d sent him the newspaper sometime back but she wasn’t easily fooled. She was well aware of just how deeply Phryne Fisher and Jack Robinson affected each other and if she couldn’t be around to needle her best friend about her absolute foolishness about the matter, she could settle for needling the man in question. They were fools, she decided, so why should she pull her punches?

Plus, she really did quite find herself a little disappointed with Jack. He had chosen to walk away from Phryne, after all, which did hurt the aristocrat more profoundly than she was willing to let on or at all. Phryne was certainly old enough to take care of herself but Mac cared deeply for the dear girl. It wasn’t everyday she fell in love and Jack had seemed so surefooted, so kind—to have him suddenly slink off at the first bump in the road was unfortunately unwise. Mac didn’t know what Jack was thinking but if she could make him see the potential consequences of his decision, then she would willingly do so.

If afterwards he still chose to walk away, then Mac would accept it. There was no way she was going to push another man in Phryne’s direction if he was going to be just another disappointment. As if he was fooling anybody with how he truly felt, she thought. Even the naïve Hugh Collins would surely have noticed. Still, Mac would like to see for herself if he was worth the affections of her dear friend. It hadn’t reached yet the point where things could not be mended so she was willing to give it a try—for Phryne. If she found some amusement along the way, then that’s just the proper exchange she would accept. 

Jack broke first—of course he did—and Mac would take this as proof of his own stake at the matter. He still cared and he still very much wanted to know who was occupying Phryne’s time. Less than a fool Mac was starting to think him as. That was a good sign.

“I only saw the photo…some soldier,” he finally said, shoving his hands into his pockets and looking a little annoyed with himself for his own perceived weakness. “British.”

“His brother is a duke,” Mac provided.

“Titled and handsome,” he scoffed lightly. “I wouldn’t expect any less from the Honourable Miss Fisher.”

Mac gave him a warning look, “Watch it, Inspector.”

He closed his eyes briefly and waved his hand in silent apology, “I forget myself sometimes, Mac. Please, continue.”

She nodded, “His name is Jonathon Lofthouse. He’s an old friend of Phryne’s.”

Jack tried not to grimace, “She has plenty of those.”

“Not like that,” Mac rolled her eyes then stopped. “Okay, like that but not just like that.”

“What’s what supposed to mean?”

“I mean…” Mac, for once, seemed to be visibly struggling to find the words. There was a look of consternation on her face, as if putting to words what she was trying to say was of a more herculean effort. “He’s not like the others.”

Jack paused, “In what way?”

“Before anything, no he isn’t titled,” she pointed out. “He’s a spare so you can knock that off your list.”

“I’ve no such list…of anything or otherwise,” Jack said dully. “Friend of yours?”

“Not necessarily,” she admitted, the body in front of her forgotten for a moment. “I met him a few times, a very long time ago in London. He and Phryne met right after her father inherited the baronetcy.”

“Fascinating,” Jack said sarcastically. “Mac, I don’t see how any of this should be of consequence to me.”

“I’d tell you if you’d cease interrupting,” the doctor said dryly. When he gave her a conciliatory look, she accepted it and continued. “Phryne met him and his brother Lofty—Lord Lofthouse now, I suppose—when she first arrived in England. This wasn’t too long after the loss of Janey and she was utterly devastated.” She motioned towards her office, taking off her gloves as she went. “She hated Henry for taking her away. In return, he tried to beat her into submission, locked her up for the whole voyage to England after she tried to escape. You can only imagine how much torment she went through as a young girl…she was ripped away from everything she had ever known and she had lost the only person she ever truly cared for. At the time, Phryne still had hope that they would find Janey…it shattered her, thinking Janey might one day come home and think they’d all left without her.”

Jack kept his eyes on the ground, “It must have been a terrible time for her.”

“Beyond words,” Mac answered quietly, offering the seat across from her desk and gave him a cup of tea. “When the Fishers moved into Somerset House, the boys had just lost their mother, which was a heavy blow to the family but it affected Jonathon more profoundly. He knew his father hated him and his mother had been the only one to show him genuine affection. Now, imagine this…two lost children, feeling this immense amount of loss and grief…they met each other at the time when they felt most displaced in their young lives. It was no surprise how they bonded so easily. They were kindred spirits.”

Jack didn’t want to hear that, unable to help the thoughtful frown that appeared on his fine features. He knew how much the loss of Janey affected Phryne, how she carried the guilt and the blame for so many years. He never knew at what point did the family’s sudden reversal of fortune occur in reference to Janey’s disappearance. Once Janey had been laid to rest, Jack didn’t dare ask Phryne anything about it. That was never how they did things but he had been willing to listen if she felt the need to talk about Janey and the past. She never did though, preferring to live in the present as only she ever could. He hated the prickling of regret that he hadn’t sought to know more. 

“They grew close, closer than the families realized,” Mac said thoughtfully, taking a seat behind her desk and nursed her own cup of tea. “They grew to depend on each other. The Somerset estate wasn’t too far from Lofthouse Manor so seeing each other wasn’t hard to accomplish. Both of them couldn’t stand being at home so they often snuck out, went on adventures together. He taught her how to ride horses and she taught him how to pick locks.” She looked at Jack as he sat across from her, “Did she ever tell you how she ended up in the war?”

Jack flinched and drank from his cup and swallowed heavily, “We don’t…we don’t talk about that.”

“I was afraid of that,” Mac answered in a low voice. “She was sixteen when she joined the war, did you know that?”

Jack scowled, “She couldn’t have been that young.”

“She ran away from home,” Mac started, her mouth turning downwards as she went through the memories in her mind. “Got herself some fake papers and joined the nursing corps—no one had any idea where she went. When they finally found out, her mother had a full-blown collapse.”

“I do already know that she’s been trouble since the day she was born,” he frowned, ignoring the memories the talk of war triggered. “I don’t see what this has to do with…any of this.”

“The Lofthouse sons ended up in the war,” Mac continued as if she didn’t hear the slight touch of petulance in his voice. “But that didn’t mean their father didn’t have influence. Lofty ended up in the desert somewhere well away from the fighting and drank his way through the war. Jonathon ended up at the Somme.”

His head shot up and Jack couldn’t help the look of surprise on his face, “The Somme?”

Mac nodded, “If Jonathon ever had any doubts whether his father hated him or not…” She shook her head, “Phryne was almost sixteen when news reached home that Jonathon had perished in a seige.”

Jack was no stranger to the mess that the war left in its wake, “Presumed dead?”

“There was a mistake somewhere,” Mac’s eyes had turned dark with memories. “You remember how it was. After she turned sixteen, Phryne disappeared and next thing anyone knew, she was driving an ambulance in the middle of a warzone. Nobody knew how to reach her and her unit was always on the move. By the time Jonathon came home, severely injured but alive, the Fishers had lost track of Phryne.”

Jack couldn’t help the tightening in his chest, “She left to follow him.”

“She never explicitly said so,” Mac took a drink from her cup, carefully placing it back on the saucer. “She didn’t know about him until after she arrived back in London in 1919. By then, so much time had passed…the war, then Paris…Dubois. They were different people, no longer children. Jonathon had gone through a horrendous injury that almost killed him, not to mention the horrors of the war and Phryne survived only to go through unspeakable trauma at the hands of Dubois—all of this and she wasn’t even older than eighteen. They’d changed so much and Phryne had spent such a long time mourning him, they couldn’t go back to what they used to be. It was impossible.”

Jack’s eyes met hers, veiled and heavy with understanding, “She was in love with him.”

“Phryne doesn’t know what it means to be in love,” Mac insisted though not unkindly. “You need to understand, Jack…she went through a horrific amount of trauma in such a short time—her father, losing Janey, the war and Dubois. If there was love in there, it was so lost in all that mess of hurt and pain, she can’t tell one from the other. For most of her life, she’s had too many people who were supposed to protect her and love her turn around and hurt her and inflict on her all sorts of abuse. That’s…that’s not normal, Jack. And you don’t come out of that unscathed.”

“She never told me…any of this,” he said quietly. “She never told me anything.”

“Phryne doesn’t like to talk about unpleasant things,” Mac offered carefully. “Not unless she has to. And she’s been happy for a while. Ever since she came home.”

Jack looked away and let out a breath, “She’s never had a problem living in the moment.”

“She grew up in the war, Jack,” Mac pointed out. “You were a grown man when you went in—you were married, you had a job, one that probably helped prepare you for the blood and the gore. Phryne was still a child, but she learned and she understood that the closer to death she got, the more she realized how much she wanted to live.”

“That…that sounds like her,” he said, struggling with the unbidden visions his mind concocted upon hearing the doctor’s words. “But this still…this isn’t something I needed to know, Mac.”

“I disagree,” she replied with a set in her jaw. “I may not know the whole story of how things went so badly between you two, but I do know there are things you need to understand, things she never bothered to explain to you.”

Jack gave her wry smile, “I don’t know how I managed to rate so high with you, Dr. MacMillan…but believe me when I say, I have no designs on your friend.”

“That’s a barefaced lie if I ever heard one,” she scoffed.

“What exactly is the point of this? You’ve just told me that the boy she fell in love with and possibly nearly killed herself over,” Jack started, tilting his head to the side as he tried to process what he had been given. “Has come back for her…and you want me to do what? Tell her not to go back?”

Mac shook her head and gave him a sad look, “Of course not, Jack. I’m telling you to make you understand that he isn’t like anybody else she knew before she met you. If you’re worried she was in love with him—maybe she was a long time ago but she’d mourned him too and let him go—whatever remained between them afterwards, was deep friendship.”

Jack couldn’t help the slight sneer in his voice, “I am well aware of her _friendships_.”

“You forget yourself once more, Inspector,” Mac growled lightly. “Everyone has a past—you know this better than anybody and nobody, especially Phryne, has ever held that against you.”

He ignored the barb and straightened up, “Be that as it may…she obviously cared a great deal for this man and he’s alive and he’s here,” he said in an even tone. “Nothing like rekindling old flames.”

“Jack…” Mac shook her head, glaring at him lightly. “You’re not being very fair…to Phryne or yourself.”

“I don’t see how I’m being unfair,” he frowned deeply. “I stake no claim to her. I never have. She is free to do what she wants with whoever she wants. And clearly,” his jaw tightened. “First Lieutenant Lofthouse is up to the task.” 

Mac gave him a long look, “And what if that’s not what she wants?”

“Phryne Fisher has never had a problem going after what she wants.”

“I don’t think that’s entirely true,” she said, giving him a pointed look.

Jack ignored that and kept going as if she had not spoken at all, “If she chooses to take up with an old sweetheart, Mac, that really isn’t any of my business. I wouldn’t dream of standing in the way of her happiness.”

Unable to truly comprehend how the conversation had veered so off the course she had been hoping to set on, Mac couldn’t help the flare of anger that burst within her. He was stubborn, more so than she thought and she gave him a hard look, “For a detective, you don’t see much, do you, Inspector?”

“I see things just fine,” he finished his tea, placing the saucer and the cup back on the doctor’s desk carefully before standing up. He headed for the doors swiftly, “Thank you for your time, doctor. If I find anything out about your victim, I’ll be sure to keep you informed if you would do me the same courtesy.”

“You are making a big mistake, do you understand that?” Mac pointed out, unable to help the tremor in her voice. “Some things…you cannot undo.”

“I make my choices with a sound mind and a clean conscience,” Jack said, stopping at the threshold though he kept his back to her. “Whatever comes of them, I’ll learn to live with as I always have.”

Mac shook her head, “Then you are a bigger fool than I ever imagined.”

“I’ll live with that too. Good day, Dr. MacMillan.”

o0o

Jack spent the rest of his day with a black cloud over his head.

Being the one closest to him as his constant Constable, Hugh Collins had been left to bear most of the brunt of it. He wasn’t so bad when he got into these kinds of moods and it had been a while since he’d had them. Days like this just usually meant that he didn’t feel like interacting with anyone and damned anyone who picked the wrong moment to try and engage Detective Inspector Jack Robinson. 

Whenever the station got wind of this, suddenly the men would need Hugh to be the one to file their paperwork for them. Other times, the staggering amount of times Hugh would just coincidentally need to enter their boss’ office would also coincide with their needing to submit some paperwork so that meant good old Hugh could just slip theirs under his pile. Saying no was never an option in those scenarios with Hugh having no time at all to even think about doing so before the opportunistic sods would disappear in a puff of smoke.

The intent was mainly to minimize annoying their boss but this seemed to backfire all the more when the station found themselves under the glare of the man they had been avoiding. He held their paperwork in his tightly fisted hand, Hugh standing behind him wide-eyed and trying very hard not to be so noticeable. The men got a proper dressing down as Jack found himself infinitely incensed to see his men trying to keep Hugh under their thumb and pointed out quite irately that he was not their secretary nor their errand boy. The next one caught trying to get Hugh or anyone else to do their paperwork for them would be assured to get a citation on their jacket and a transfer down to sanitation if it kept up.

It didn’t help matters when nearly at the end of the day as Jack was actually planning to head home on time if only to wash the ghastly day away from him, a call came in from Russel Street. There was an incident at the Worthington Manor and his presence had been personally requested by the Chief Commissioner Reginald Hall. He had been in attendance at the party being held at the home of one of the most prestigious families in Melbourne and of course, he wanted Jack on the case. Not having a choice but to take the call, Jack headed out of the City South Police Station with Hugh who followed meekly behind, thankful that he hadn’t made plans that night to go out.

They arrived at the party where the driveway was filled with parked motorcars and a butler stood outside waiting for their arrival. He was welcomed into the grand home where guests had been cordoned off at the ballroom, all dressed in their finery and their anxiety. The Chief Commissioner didn’t waste time, informing Jack that there had been an incident with the maid who was found with a bleeding head wound in the library. She was alive but had lost a considerable amount of blood and was not conscious when she’d been taken to the hospital.

Jack and Hugh went straight to the library, instructing the other two constables that had been called in to seal the place and make sure nobody got out. Jack had been so distracted by his own work and the black cloud hanging over his head, he hadn’t noticed the fine figure dressed in a stunning silver frock with the jewels to match among that passed through the hall on the opposite end.

“This is a private party, Robinson,” the Commissioner Hall was saying as he stood with him inside the crime scene. “Nobody but the Worthingtons know the girl. I doubt they’d be so careless as to commit a crime in a house full of respectable people. Even Richard isn’t that thick.”

“So, not a close friend then, Commissioner?” Jack said, almost bored as he eyed the minimal amount of blood on the carpet and on the wall. They were smeared but he couldn’t tell if it was from a struggle or from well-meaning people trying to get her to the hospital. 

“Richard Worthington is a powerful man in his own right,” the older man said with a slight huff. “Nice enough fellow…if not a little dour.” He looked at Jack, “Reminds me of you, actually.”

“Ah…well, if you say so, sir,” the inspector replied. “There’s not much blood. Who found her?”

Commissioner Hall glanced at the double doors behind him that had been kept shut to keep prying eyes away, “Well…a woman who was invited to the party. She was passing through here when she stumbled upon the scene. She checked on the girl when she found her unconscious and immediately alerted me to secure the crime scene.”

“Anyone get her any help?”

“The guest was quite adept at handling the head wound,” his boss replied. “We called for an ambulance immediately as she kept an eye on the girl. We tried to keep it quiet to avoid alarming the guests. For all we know this is all just some awful accident.”

“I’ll have to see her wound and the rest of this crime scene to make a proper assessment,” Jack looked around. “And where is our helpful guest?”

“With the rest of the party,” he answered. “You know her actually, Robinson.”

Jack felt his blood run cold. A party full of the members of high society. Dressed to the nines. Someone the Chief Commissioner seems to know who also knows Jack. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t jump right into that the moment he entered the grand mansion. Of course, she would be involved. This was one of the events of the season, surely the current darling of the press would be in attendance He felt his jaw tense and tighten and he closed his eyes. He felt his fingers itch to reach for his handcuffs. Now, of all times, he should have known.

The Commissioner didn’t seem to notice his change in mood, “I believe it’s your ex-wife. Ms. Rosie Sanderson.”

Feeling as if the rug had been pulled from under him, Jack’s eyebrows shot up, the cold draining from his body immediately. “Rosie? Not…oh, the Deputy Commissioner’s daughter.”

“You have a roundabout way of putting things,” the Commissioner chuckled. “My god, man. Surely you didn’t address her as ‘Deputy Sanderson’s daughter’ while you were married?”

“No, sir,” Jack shook his head, relief flooding him. He could handle Rosie. “He was my commander at the time.”

The Commissioner let out a laugh, “Good humor, my boy. You need that in this job. Nice to know you haven’t been completely stripped bare of it.”

“Not completely, sir, no,” Jack answered passively. “Is there a place we can hold interviews? I’d like to get Ms. Sanderson’s statement and I’d like to interview the guests, see if they saw anything that would arouse suspicion.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” the Commissioner shrugged. “I’ll have Richard’s man find a proper room.” He gave Jack a long, assessing look. “I don’t believe I’ll need to put emphasis on discretion here, Robinson.”

“No, sir,” Jack answered dutifully and found Hugh in the corner, still taking notes. “Collins, please find Ms. Rosie Sanderson. She should be close by. She knows how this works.” He paused, “And ask the Worthington’s butler where we can hold interviews for the time being.”

“Yes, sir,” the young constable answered quickly. 

“By any chance is Deputy Chief Sanderson here, sir?” Jack asked once Hugh had gone.

“Ha!” the Commissioner snorted with derision. “Won’t catch good old Sanderson in one of these. Man’s too happy sitting on that high horse of his. Can’t stand the lot…which is ironic considering his daughter runs in the same circles. She’s engaged to that Fletcher fellow, isn’t she? George’s godson.”

“As far as I’m aware of, yes sir,” Jack mumbled. He was more than aware of Rosie’s new Abbotsford man and his proposal. She’d been kind enough to inform him of the most recent development in their relationship. Not that he needed be told—Rosie had been the one to suggest they move from a separation to a proper divorce. He wasn’t stupid and Fletcher had always held a torch for Rosie, his beloved childhood sweetheart, even after Jack came along.

“They insist it’s not unseemly as they aren’t truly related,” the Commissioner shrugged. “But personally, I think if you feel the need to insist on certain matters then you probably have a problem. Still, someone as close to George marrying his daughter…you’d think he’d know better.”

Jack chose not comment, well aware of how close his connection was to George Sanderson before he’d taken up with Rosie. It wasn’t as close as a godson but George had been quite close to Jack which was why he had accepted his daughter’s marriage to someone who wasn’t quite as rich as Sidney Fletcher. Still, he wasn’t about to remind his own boss about this fact, especially while it seems there was no love lost between the two ambitious men. It was no secret that George coveted the Chief Commissioner’s position.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it then, Robinson,” Commissioner Hall said at last, moving far away from the crime scene and headed for the double doors. “Tread lightly, alright? These are good people. I’d hate for you to cross swords with the wrong sort.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir,” Jack said absently, taking note of the bloodstains once more before heading out as well. He would leave the crime scene photographer to take detailed photos of the scene. If he was lucky, this will turn out to be a tragic accident just like the drowning Mac had cleared up around mid-afternoon.

Jack was directed towards the front parlour where his former wife was seated alone with Hugh by the doors. He had expected Fletcher to be with her, considering how attached the man was. Belatedly, he found himself thinking that Sidney Fletcher was exactly the kind of man Rosie deserved, someone who gave her the amount of attention she needed in a marriage. Despite the black cloud over his head, he felt genuinely happy for her and her new chance at happiness and a fruitful marriage.

“Oh, there you are, Jack,” Rosie said, hands caught wringing a handkerchief nervously. “Commissioner Hall said he would send out for you to make sure everything is handled properly. It was just awful.”

“Hello, Rosie,” he nodded towards her, taking a seat across from her. “I’m sorry your night didn’t turn out quite you planned, I suppose.”

She nodded, distractedly. “I knew I should have left with Sidney earlier. He had to make his excuses because something happened at the docks but he insisted I stay and mingle. Oh! But this is all too ghastly.”

“I was told you found the girl,” Jack said instead, taking out his notepad and pen. “Would you mind telling me what happened?”

Rosie nodded, “I wanted to take a moment for myself…too many people and far too much conversation, you know? I thought I’d sit in the library for a few minutes but then I saw the girl…”

“Do you know her?”

“No, not at all,” Rosie frowned. “This is the first time I’ve been invited by the Worthingtons…Sidney does business with them but I’m not sure I noticed her at the party at all. She was probably in the back?”

Jack nodded, “Did you notice anything odd? Anything at all when you entered?”

“The door on the other side of the library was open,” she answered dully. “But I must admit the moment I saw her, she was all I could see. And the blood.”

“Was she conscious? Did she say anything?”

“No,” Rosie said in response. “She was just…there. I didn’t notice anything odd…the poor thing. She’s quite lovely too. She had golden hair.”

“Well, you probably saved her,” Jack said, finishing his notes quickly. “Hopefully, she’ll regain consciousness and we’ll find out what happened.”

“Thank you, Jack,” she smiled kindly, tilting her head to the side as she assessed him. “You look…good.”

“I probably don’t but I appreciate the sentiment all the same,” Jack said dryly. “Barring the circumstances, good to see you, Rosie. You look nice.”

Rosie looked down at her dress, a beautiful blue and black beaded gown that had been made especially for her and then back up at her former husband. She laughed under her breath, patting him on the forearm, “You did always have a way with words. Thank you, Jack.”

He smirked and slipped his notepad back into his coat pocket along with his pen, “Can’t be caught flirting with an engaged woman, can I?”

“Of course not,” she laughed. “Speaking of women…” she looked past the doors, catching sight of Hugh whose back was turned into the room as he stood guard at the threshold. She turned her attention back to him, “I’m surprised you haven’t mentioned anything about your friend.”

“My friend?”

Rosie’s eyebrows rose delicately, “Miss Fisher…?”

“Oh,” Jack frowned. “Right. No, she’s no longer working with…well, with the station. I haven’t seen her at all for a few months now.”

Her eyebrows—if possible—seemed to go higher, “That explains so much.”

“Explains what?” Jack said, nonchalant. 

“I’ve been seeing a lot of your lady detective recently,” Rosie said demurely. “I was wondering about her sudden reappearance in societal functions but according to her aunt, she’s returned to the fold. Quite enthusiastically, actually. And Mrs. Stanley hopes she is done with—mind you, these are her words, not mine—the foolish business of running around with the police.”

Jack shrugged, “Well, maybe Mrs. Stanley’s finally gotten through to her niece. Can’t have the cousin of the King shot in the middle of a crime scene.”

Rosie smirked, “Somehow I don’t think she’d mind.”

He rolled his eyes at that, “Don’t you start.”

“I admit, I was a little jealous…” she started, laughing lightly. “You two looked quite…comfortable at that footy match. Mine was merely a gut reaction. I was married to you for over a decade after all…that’s hard to shake off.”

“Rosie…”

“I’m not meddling,” she recognized the tone in his voice and immediately held her hands up in a manner of surrender. “But I was surprised. She’s been seen out and about with that dashing soldier. A rather handsome fellow. I thought it was all for show, but the way you’re acting…well, I guess I have my answer.”

“There was never anything between me and her,” he said gruffly. “We dissolved our partnership on mutual grounds and parted on amicable terms.”

“Not everything has to sound like a report falling on father’s desk, Jack,” Rosie tutted at him, her brow furrowing in disapproval. “She seemed like she understood you and your work. I thought that might draw you together.”

“She liked the thrill of the chase,” Jack muttered. “I guess she grew tired of it.”

Her painted lips curled at the corners, “She must be easily bored then.”

Jack thought for a moment, “You’d think…but no. She’s never short on good times.”

“Maybe,” Rosie said after a moment. “Thought I must say…I’ve never seen a woman work so hard to look like she’s having fun. Not at all like how she was investigating the Hangman’s murder.”

He tried not to look so cross, “She’s fickle.”

“Is she? I’ve spoken with her a few times,” she tucked a dark lock of curls behind her ear. “She seems rather intelligent and astute. For someone who has known her as long as you have, I’m surprised with your assessment.”

He rolled his eyes at that, “Maybe she behaves differently when she’s among her kind.”

“I’ll try not to take offense from that,” she raised a sharp eyebrow at him then sighed. “Jack, what’re you doing?”

Now recognizing her tone, he shook his head and stood up, “My job.” He made a move towards the door, “Thank you for your time, Ms. Sanderson. If we have more questions, we will contact you.”

It was an obvious dismissal but she really wasn’t the type to easily let things go, “Jack?”

He stopped, hesitating before turning around to face her. She remained seated on the soft cushions, her brown eyes trained on him and reading him just like she used to all those years ago. It seemed being divorced didn’t deter her from thinking she had unlimited access to his inner thoughts.

“You were different,” she said after a moment, almost shyly. “At the footy match. You seemed…happy.”

Jack shrugged, “I like footy matches.”

She gave him a scolding look but then softened, “You don’t look happy anymore.”

His jaw tensed and a veil fell over his eyes, “Season’s over—no more footy matches.”

Rosie watched him leave, as she had so many times before, and sat back against the soft cushions of the seat she occupied. They weren’t talking about footy matches and she knew he was very much aware of that. He reminded her of the last couple of years of their marriage, guarded and shunted like a damned fortress. It had been a while since she had seen him that way and he’d changed a lot in the last year or so. She had almost halted divorce proceedings, seeing how much he changed, how lighter he seemed.

It had only been when she realized it wasn’t because of her or him, the sudden change in his disposition. He seemed less brooding and more engaging, even going back to reading his favorite literature that used to bring him joy. That had been the only time Rosie had reconsidered the divorce, if only because it hurt to imagine she had failed so spectacularly. She’d wanted that possibility of a chance to fix things, to meet him in the new grounds he had found himself in. She had been so close, so close to asking Jack to think things over, to maybe reconsider. She had asked for the divorce but by then she hadn’t seen him in months, hadn’t seen the changes.

Rosie had thought she was getting her husband back, the wry dry-humored Jack who loved to read by the fire and enjoyed quiet tender moments together. That was the Jack she married, the man she lost to the war. To see him slowly return, to see bits and pieces of him come back, it had been a revelation and hope had planted itself in her belly. But it had only taken a week or so for her to realize how wrong she was, how much she had misunderstood. It hadn’t been a matter of Jack reawakening on his own, after all. 

Someone had lit the fuse inside him, reignited a spark she thought the war had killed. It had hurt so deeply, knowing someone else had accomplished in such a short time what she tried to for so many years, but seeing Jack—even in the smallest ways—as he used to be had been a gift she would always treasure. In the end, she had gone ahead with the divorce, glad to see him coming back to life even though she was a little jealous and she had unfairly resented the woman who achieved what had felt so impossible.

Now Phryne Fisher, the Honourable Miss Fisher, had been an odd puzzle to solve. She was intelligent, gregarious and certainly not something Melbourne society had been prepared for. Rosie had missed her informal debut in what had been the last of Lydia Andrews’ spectacular parties but she’d heard about it for weeks amongst friends. There hadn’t been associations made with Jack yet but the young aristocrat had certainly made an impression after a rather sensual performance with Sasha De Lisse after meeting him for all of five seconds. The next time Rosie heard about the woman, it had been to tittering of agitated tongues concerning a sports motorcar and a homeless young girl. It was one outrageous story after another, the facts often contradicting each other. It wasn’t long before Jack’s name started getting dragged along with it.

It was hard to form a picture—she was allegedly a bright young thing addicted to drink and possibly cocaine and yet she took in a homeless orphaned girl who came from nothing and had been found as a stowaway on a train to Ballarat. She was a floozy who frequented underground jazz clubs but she was also a revered patron of the arts and helped troubled young girls better themselves. She took in lovers, many of whom people knew, though there was not one whiff of a scandal on her—if there were men, they certainly weren’t talking. She was supposed to be a communist shrew who liked to run around with red-raggers but she had saved a young woman from bank robbers. It was one contradiction after another and Phryne Fisher seemed intent to do her level-best in feeding the gossip-mongers in Rosie’s circles, which as it seems, were now hers as well. 

But of course, none of the catty women who enjoyed discussing the many scandalous and criminal adventures of Prudence Stanley’s niece dared let their claws out. Rosie had seen it for herself, which more than amused her. Phryne was quick-witted and shrewd on top of everything else and she had handled the early detractors who went for her throat in the beginning. Phryne was quick to settle that ruthlessly and quietly, so much so that even the gossipy witches who reveled in smearing her name at every turn, now seemed like docile tamed kittens around her. 

Rosie didn’t think they’d ever be best friends or ever be remotely close but she had had the chance to have share a few conversations with the lady detective on a few occasions. She was just as charming and welcoming as anyone, not at all seemingly bothered by her former connection to Jack. Rosie had admired that, surprised at how receptive she had been to the woman her beau used to be married to. Well, not a beau after all. She had truly thought Phryne had started bringing around the handsome First Lieutenant Jonathon Lofthouse to cover up her involvement with Jack. True to form from beginning to end, Phryne was proving quite hard to pin down.

Still, it explained the few moments she’d observed the younger woman when she didn’t think anyone was looking. A few times now, she’d observed Phryne steal away in quiet corners during gatherings. Rosie thought she was just taking a breather, getting herself away from the prodding bunch she usually could be found the center of. Knowing what she knew now, Rosie thought she herself should have known better. She knew what a broken heart looked like all too well and looking back, the young aristocrat did have that look about her.

What had Jack said? They had dissolved their partnership. Well, that certainly looked to be the case. Phryne wasn’t so overtly obvious about her feelings but she had been sticking close to her recent constant escort. If Jonathon Lofthouse was aware his companion was using his presence to salve a broken heart with his presence, it didn’t show. Now that Rosie had some portion of Jack’s side of things, it explained the reemergence of the young socialite in high society. Nothing cures a broken heart like distance after all, as Rosie should well know. She had crossed an ocean while Phryne simply switched careers.

Jack, of course, would dig his heels in. She knew that move well enough and had experienced it herself. He wasn’t a cruel man and he didn’t seek out to hurt people he cared about, but he was also simply a man. He didn’t know what to do with emotional disappointment and plain heartache. Battle wounds, broken bones and twisted ankles—those he could deal with. Physical pain. But emotional upheavals, that was an entirely different matter. There was some comfort knowing he was still the same old Jack but it did worry her. 

Rosie Sanderson was not a betting woman but she would bet everything she had that Jack had been the one to dissolve their partnership. The woman in question did not strike her as someone who gave up easily but she knew Jack and knew how his mind worked. She truly hoped this was not the case but she had a good understanding of the situation, probably better than the two souls involved. Now, if Phryne Fisher could find it in herself to hang on a little then maybe they might have a better shot.

Still, she did say she wouldn’t meddle.

But then again, Rosie really had a problem when it came to letting things go so with a slight huff, she pushed herself off the seat and followed her former husband’s footsteps. She found she still had quite a lot to say to him, if only to knock some sense into him and make him see the same mistakes he was repeating. Why she bothered, she wasn’t sure, but divorcing the man didn’t stop her from caring about him, it seemed. The sooner he was someone else’s concern, the better, she decided. Rosie felt she would rest easier knowing Jack had someone minding him. He was a self-sufficient, independent grown man but heavens, he was a stubborn mule as well.

Heels clicking on the tiled floors, Rosie stepped out into the hall, ready to give her former husband a piece of her mind only to catch him frozen on the spot, his back to her. She almost grabbed him, ready to argue her case when she realized what had been keeping him rooted on the spot. She stopped, dismayed as she took in the scene.

Down the hall, dressed in her stunning silver gown with the beautiful beading and glittering stones, was none other than the Honourable Miss Phryne Fisher. The brilliant contrast of her gown on her pale alabaster skin gave her an alluring glow that left her effortlessly radiant among the opulence that surrounded her. Stunning rows of intricately designed diamonds attached to a ring around her fingers were clamped around her delicate wrists and matched the brilliant gems on her neck. On her hair as dark as a raven’s wings, was a band of the same precious stones delicately designed to look like crystal feathers, crowning her like a goddess fated to walk the planes of the mortal coil.

She had no trouble attracting attention that night, finding herself easily the most captivating creature amongst the partygoers and she’d had no shortage of admirers. And Jack would have seen all of that had he not been so focused on an entirely different matter that had nothing at all to do with her finery or her loveliness. He could not seem to take his eyes off the scene playing out in front of him, not because of how arresting she looked or how she herself seemed to put the gems that adorned her to shame. No, he had not seen any of that, for he was far too preoccupied by something that he simply could not look away from. 

His eyes were too drawn to her escort, a tall man dressed in a fine suit who stood with his arms around her and standing much too close for such a public setting. She did nothing to disuade him from invading her personal space and did, in fact, seem to welcome him. 

It riled the inspector up though he decided it was more because of the utter callousness of the nature of the flirtation. Surely, they had been informed a young girl had been attacked within the premises. But should the well being of a scullery maid trouble the priveleged and the well to do? Maybe not. At least, not the fine pair that stood so close to each other. Nobody needed to tell the copper who this man was, seeing all too clearly the bearings of a soldier decked out in the trappings of British wealth.

Jack couldn’t help how his eyes darkened as he watched the stranger brush his hand over Phryne’s pale cheek in a lover’s caress.


	6. Chapter 6

To say that the night had not gone at all according to plan, was putting it kindly.

It had started with the blue dress, the one she had planned to wear to the party that had somehow snagged on something she didn’t know what from. Had it been any other dress, dear Dot could have easily mended it but with the fine beading and the prominence of the location of the tear, it was impossible without risking further disaster. It would need to be taken back to the House of Fleuri and have the sisters take a look. Feeling a rather heavy bout of disappointed, Phryne had to accept that she’d been left with no other recourse than to renegotiate her plans for her frock and wear the silver one instead which, she felt, had been far too ostentatious for a private soiree. 

She had meant to wear the gorgeous silver creation to a coming ball where it would have shown quite perfectly. But finding she didn’t have much of an option, she had reluctantly asked Dot to take the gown out and tried it on. Of course, it fit like a second skin and iridescent combination of the gems and the fabric made her skin look utterly exquisite. The ball it had been intended for was themed something with fairytales and fairies and the frock had been perfectly made for it. Now, she was one gown short and tasked to wear something that even she felt was a little too much which she then knew would most likely be noted in the rag they call newspapers the following days.

Not that this would be the first time she would be accused of trying to upstage a hostess but luckily, Phryne had made quite an impression on the dowager matron of the Worthington family, Mrs. Alicia Worthington whose son Richard was throwing the soiree in her honor. If questions arose, then at least Phryne would be able to explain herself should she unintentionally offend the members of such an influential family. Her aunt would definitely say something about this, if she knew Prudence at all, but she knew she had far too much goodwill in the bank to worry about that at present

Then the red-raggers called in to let her know they would not be able to come to her service that night. Cec’s wife Alice was feeling very ill so he was staying with her in case she needed to be rushed to hospital while Bert had chosen this proper time to go and disappear into a public house. That left her with the Hispano Suiza and as well as an escort who would not be chauffeured like he was expecting. Speaking of her escort—

Ah, yes, Jonathon Lofthouse, second son of a duke and brother of one crafty Lofty Lofthouse.

He was a war hero, an adventurer and apparently, making quite a killing traveling through Asia and the Middle east growing his gem and steel empire. Jonathon had made an unexpected and startling appearance at the last private dinner party her aunt had thrown and no one thought to inform Phryne which, she decided, was actually intentional on the part of one Prudence Stanley. She hadn’t been aware but Guy and his bride had bumped into the wandering Lofthouse the younger somewhere in Colombo and thusly informed him of her presence in Melbourne. 

Jonathon had sworn up and down he hadn’t meant to surprise her so and had swiftly traveled to the Antipodes to talk to some investors and discuss business matters. There was still so much yet to be conquered this part of the realm, Jonathon thought he could easily double his wealth for half the work in Australia rather than join the already cluttered business central of London. It was all drearily cut dry and bumping into Phryne was just a happy addition to an already adventurous ride.

Phryne didn’t believe a single jot of it and had told him so at which point he conceded and admitted, yes, he had come to visit her. The business aspect had been sheer dumb luck when he found himself bumping into an old Eton mate who had also become an Antipodean transplant. Rather than finding herself upset at having been played quite so easily by her aunt and an adored old friend, Phryne instead found herself laughing happily and throwing her arms quite spontaneously around Jonathon.

It had been years since she had last seen him and even longer since they had been close enough to touch. Her last two years in London had been a dizzying lifestyle full of parties and hopeless abandon. At the time, the Lofthouse brothers were busy attending to their family’s estate as their father’s health at the time had begun to decline. She had seen him briefly just before she’d left to sail for home, but it had been a fleeting moment of their eyes meeting and a crowd pulling them in different directions.

She hadn’t thought about Jonathon, not for quite sometime but what memories she had of him were thoughts of nothing but fondness and light. She still remembered him as the sweet boy of her youth—tall, lanky and gangly with barely a smile to spare in his dark world. They’d both been in a sea of grief when life threw them in each other’s path and no one quite understood just how they seemed to gravitate to each other except themselves. She had seen the haunted look in his eyes, the first time they’d met, and had recognized it immediately. Jane had just been lost and his mother had just passed and it took very little time before they learned to console the other. For a long time, he had been the one spot of light in her world of darkness even while he drowned in the same desolate world.

But she didn’t let those thoughts take over, not often. Phryne focused on the good, trying and succeeding not to remember the even darker years when she thought he had perished in the war as a young soldier. Instead, she remembered the tall boy who always climbed the highest spot in the tallest trees, snagging apples and pears off branches and bringing them down to her when she complained her shoes and dresses did not make for proper climbing. He didn’t let his own finery deter him and instead, always reached the top for her and gave her whatever it was she desired. 

Jonathon had been a sweet boy and he had been the salve her young broken heart needed when she had been left so shattered and bereft when she had lost her sister, her entire life and home. He had been the first person in England to make her feel like someone did still care about her and thought kindly of her. If nothing else, Phryne was grateful to Jonathon, not knowing if she could have made it out alive those years before the Great War started and upended their lives once more.

Phryne had not planned it but ever since that night at Rippon Lea when they met just inside the foyer of her aunt’s home, they’d begun to spend more time together. It had started out so simply, sitting next to each other at that dinner and finding they did not have a problem at all getting back into rhythm with each other. He told her of his nomadic lifestyle, often in the jungles and lost in mines, and she told him of her adventures in Melbourne and her newfound family. They’d been so enraptured catching each other up that night they’d forgotten everyone else, including the fact that Phryne was supposed to be making nice with members of the St. Jude’s hospital board to secure her place.

They spoke of what little news they have of London, how Lofty and his wife Ellen were coping being the new Duke and Duchess of Winstead and as well as their shared admiration for the de Havilland Tiger Moth. Jonathon teased her about teaching him the Black Bottom and Phryne laughed into her dessert, remembering the awful night they’d stumbled out of the Savoy, legs jellied from dancing too much and their bellies full of champagne. Their laughter came easily and both their eyes lit up with joyous mirth and forgotten easy camaraderie.

And ever since that dinner at Rippon Lea, Phryne had welcomed his presence back into her life. She showed him around Melbourne, even going as far as taking him to drive by Collingwood where she’d been born, and pointed out the many places that were worth exploring. Him, in turn, continuously offered his services to be her escort at the various events she attended. Despite the full guest lists, somehow an invitation would always find itself at The Windsor Hotel, welcoming him into Victori society with each letter and flourish.

So that night, despite the abrupt changes in some plans, Phryne had gone ahead with her intention to attend the exclusive by invitation only party at the Worthington Manor. Mr. Butler had kindly gone ahead and fetched Jonathon from the hotel while she and Dot redid her wardrobe, changing her makeup and even her lingerie to the last detail. The Worthington’s support to the various causes Phryne was now a part of was essential and she wanted to make sure should the night go badly it would not be by her hand and her aunt would have no reason to think so.

By the time Jonathon arrived, dressed in an exquisite tuxedo, and a dark coat to ward off the chilly night air, Phryne was ready and waiting. He hadn’t been able to hide his pleasure at seeing her in her lovely gown and she found her heartbeat quickening at that, as if her body was just now remembering how it felt to be so openly adored. She enjoyed the feeling and happily took the arm he so gallantly offered and had Mr. Butler give him the keys to her beloved motorcar.

They arrived at the party on time and everything had gone swimmingly. Jonathon was endlessly charming and striking standing tall next to her, never too far out of reach but never too close to be considered daring. The women lapped him up, enjoying the small kind smiles he would throw their way and always ever appropriately complimentary. Phryne shined next to him, preening at the looks she was receiving from both sexes and delighting in the obvious jealous tones the women spoke with as they finally found the nerve to comment upon her sudden change of pace. She had been attending these events without an escort for months and suddenly, these days she was turning up with one of the newest eligible bachelors who was not only handsome and came from peerage, but also independently wealthy.

If there were assumptions of a newfound romance, she did not correct them. Not that there was, but Phryne was happy to let them think so. She wouldn’t be so cold and deny that she had been feeling a little lonely, longing for some stability and companionship that she had been missing for some time. To have someone as kind and understanding as Jonathon who seemed to still know her well, was a welcome reprieve. Still, if he somehow found an interest in someone at these parties, she would stand aside and let him pursue his desires but until then, she will gladly have him next to her.

The fact that Rosie Sanderson had been quite an unavoidable presence in this event was also something that she felt the need to shield herself from which prompted her to keep Jonathon even closer than she would have. Her last encounter with the daughter of Deputy Chief Commissioner Sanderson had been alright, pleasant even, but she didn’t miss the way her sharp eyes cut to her at the Abbotsford-West Melbourne footy match. 

Phryne didn’t dwell on the sudden turnaround in her attitude towards her, so she spent most of those gatherings they both happened to be present at away from the woman. Not that it stopped the politician’s daughter from seeking her out, but fortunately she was always formal though never unkind. Rosie was even friendly at times, but Phryne still felt the need to avoid her subtly. She didn’t know if she was imagining it or not, but those events where Rosie would be present were the ones where she felt most watched, like someone was tracking her every movement and taking in her every word and gesture. Why she felt that way, she didn’t know, but she was glad to have Jonathon as her social buffer for the night.

Then, of course, a body had to be discovered in the library, of all places, by Rosie Sanderson, of all people. She immediately sought out Chief Commissioner Hall then who had been talking to Phryne at the time. Rosie didn’t seem to mind her presence and went out of her way to inform _both_ of them of what she had found, not even pretending to keep Phryne out of the way, thinking she would be interested. Rosie had explained herself and took the Commissioner with her, but not without looking back at Phryne expectantly as if she waiting for her to come along.

Phryne had taken half a step back, giving her a small nod and turned away. She felt her hands suddenly grow clammy and her heartbeat seemed to pick up. Phryne chalked it off to some form of reaction and tamped it down, reminding herself this was not the place to play around at being a detective, not while she was surrounded by so many prominent members of society who believed her to be reformed. She sought out Jonathon, ignoring the way her head started to throb and feel light at the same time. When she couldn’t find him, she slipped past the other guests and out into the back of the grand mansion, finding the open glass doors to the patio that led to the rear of the property.

She stepped out into the night air, her hand reaching out blindly for the rounded columns underneath the balcony and nearly fell against it. Shakily, she pressed her hand over her heart as she felt her chest tighten and her breathing began to turn laborious. She tried to quell the panic that had begun to set in and forced herself to suck in cold frigid air, wincing as it cut through her and went straight into her lungs, sharp, stinging and quick. Phryne turned her body to face the solid pillar and held on, placing her hands upon it, let the cool surface ground her as she rested her forehead against it. She was too lost in her efforts to keep still to mind if anyone saw her and thought her crazy. She felt dizzy and worried she might lose control and cause a scene, which was entirely out of the question. She reminded herself to breathe and hold on until the world stopped spinning, closing her eyes tightly. It took a few moments but once she felt her body begin to calm and the pressure ease a little, Phryne pressed her palms against the solid structure and reminded herself to stay alert to avoid a potential collapse. It was too much—all of it—it had suddenly been just too much.

Phryne wasn’t sure how long she had been out there but after she was much calmer and in better form, she felt a presence behind her and found Jonathon standing there with one of the maids. She had seen Phryne as she passed a window, noticing how the striking aristocrat looked unsteady on her feet and immediately informed the man she’d seen her with all night. It had been impeccable timing as Jonathon had been looking for Phryne as well and wasted no time coming for her once he was informed.

She was practically hugging a tall pillar by the time he found her, eyes closed and skin paler than normal. He didn’t miss the heavy breathing or the tremors along her shoulders so he cautioned himself to approach carefully. The maid stood by, in case she was needed though she let him come up to his companion alone. Jonathon was careful to gently alert her to his presence, not missing how her breath hitched for a moment before she relaxed, most likely after she recognized him and understood she was safe.

Jonathon had never seen her that way before, not since they were young and she had been in the throes of an emotional fit. It had been alarming, seeing her look so unsteady and he carefully reached out to her, placing his hand in the middle of her back to let her know he was there. She didn’t react to his touch though she did push back gently to ease into his comforting hand, telling him quietly she was alright.

He politely excused the maid, thanking her for her assistance and informed her she was fine to return inside. Phryne waited until they were alone before turning to face him, ashamed of her weakness but not moving too quickly to hide it. She brushed at the fringe across her brow and explained to him what the poor Deputy Commissioner’s daughter had found in the library. He was surprised this alarmed her so, considering the type of work she had been dabbling in but he didn’t say that out loud. Instead, he gathered her to him, wrapping his arms around her gingerly and rubbed his warm hands over her chilled bare arms, trying to rub warmth back into them. Her body had been freezing against his and this only served to make his concern spike a hundred degrees higher.

“I just needed a moment,” Phryne said with a small, self-conscious smile as she pulled away from him and leaned her bare upper back against the cold pillar. “I think I’ve had too much champagne and the shock of a possible murder occurring just a few feet away…well, it’s not something one expects at these types of parties.”

“Wish I could say the same about Lofty’s parties,” Jonathon teased lightly, leaning his head closely to hers in a conspiratorial smile. “Do you want to go? I can get the car—”

She laughed lightly under her breath, “I’m not sure how familiar you are with murder investigations, but those who beat a hasty retreat after a killing are usually the ones to shoot straight up on the list of suspects.”

Jonathon smirked, “We’re each other’s alibi, who would doubt the word of the Honourable Phryne Fisher?”

He didn’t speak of her being a lady detective or her connection to the police that Guy had mentioned. He hadn’t missed the fact that out of all the adventures she had listed while being in Australia, she hadn’t mentioned at all being in the detecting business. She had talked about Dot and acquiring her services after her employer was killed by his spouse, how she came to find Jane as a stowaway in a train to Ballarat when she went to get her motorcar or the presence of the red raggers other than they provided a pretty good chauffer service. She mentioned the police recapturing the serial killer who took her sister but she didn’t mention her part in it or even her abduction. She omitted so much details, Jonathon was beginning to wonder if Guy was weaving tall tales and he had been the fool to have fallen for them quite spectacularly.

It had been Prudence Stanley who confirmed all of this without intending to during a private conversation at her home. She had invited him for tea, to thank him for coming to her dinner, and had mentioned in passing her relief that her niece had stopped with the foolishness of thinking herself a fancy detective. It had been a phase, her aunt told Jonathon resolutely, one that she was glad to find her rid of. He’d only sipped his tea quietly, wondering if he would find Phryne in one of those adventures while he was there. But she never mentioned it, didn’t even talk about it, and everything she knew about detecting or crimes, seemed to be all about the police force and their tireless efforts to make the city less dangerous.

Now and then guests had mentioned it at the few parties he attended but Phryne always steered conversations away from the topic before he could ever say anything. If she felt the need to hide her profession for reasons he did not know, Jonathon wasn’t going to push her on it. He just hoped she wasn’t doing it on the account of him, fearing he might think less of her for mucking about. He hadn’t lived so glamorously and she’d heard his stories, sleeping in the trees in the dank forests, crawling in the mud for steel and choking in dust and grime in the mines.

“Everyone’s a suspect when a murder is involved,” Phryne said passively. “We should go back inside. The police will be arriving soon.”

Jonathon nodded, offering his arm to her which she took with a small smile. They both headed back into the house, slipping through the large floor to ceiling open patio doors and through the featherlight curtains hanging beautifully on the sides billowing in the light breeze as they passed. They reentered the party just as the guests were being corralled back into the ballroom by a couple of constables in their dark uniforms. They had been going at a steady pace until Phryne suddenly stopped just as they stepped into the hallway that led to the double doors of the grand room where everyone would be.

“Oh…no, no, no,” she muttered, ripping her arm from underneath his and turning sharply away suddenly as if trying to bolt back into the direction they came from. “Not now…oh.”

“What’s wrong, Phryne?” he asked, reaching for her but she batted his hand away. Frowning, he moved closer to her, wondering why she was suddenly trying to hide her face from him, her hand that was not trying to keep him from her reaching for her own face. “Hey, what’s going on?”

“I-I need to go to the powder room,” she said in a hushed voice but there was a note of panic to it.

“Why? Are you ill?” he bent down to look at her, his eyes widening when he realized what was going on. “Phryne, what’s wrong? Come on…oh! Goodness!” 

He was alarmed to find blood on her face, a dark ghastly red trail running from under her nose and almost to her upper lip. Phryne floundered, trying to get away from him while trying to tilt her head up, but he clamped a hand gently around her flailing wrist as he reached into his pocket. 

“Stay still, Phryne, or you’ll fall,” Jonathon cautioned gently, moving closer to her and kept her in place. “Come here, let me—”

Phryne was startled when he carefully placed a stark white handkerchief under her nose and she stopped, looking up at him with surprise that easily morphed into relief. There were tears of mortification in her eyes and her chest was heaving once more with each breath she now had to take through her open mouth and she sagged against him as he held her steady. He slipped his arm around her waist and gently steered her in the direction they were heading but past the main doors to the ballroom and veered left. He had almost led her to where he’d found the powder room earlier only to be stopped by a constable.

“Sir? You can’t leave—guests are to remain in the ballroom.”

Jonathon looked at the young man, stepping forward and shielding Phryne, “My companion needs to go to the powder room. I’m afraid it can’t wait.”

“I’m sorry, sir but—” the officer stopped, looking past the tall man and immediately stopped with a burst of surprise. “Oh! Miss Fisher!”

“Constable Matthews,” Phryne said after a moment though she kept the handkerchief pressed on her face. She stepped around Jonathon, “I know there’s been a crime, but please…I really need to—I need the powder room.”

“Oh,” the young man hesitated, noting the distress on what part of her face he could see. She was keeping the handkerchief to her face though he wasn’t sure for what. He was so preoccupied with what best course of action to take, he didn’t think to look at exactly what was going on with the lady detective. 

He knew who Phryne Fisher was—he’d been at City South before transferring to City Central, but he also knew his instructions from Chief Commissioner Hall. No one was to leave the party to avoid alarming the guests until the Inspector arrived, but then this was the infamous lady detective of Victoria. How could she be alarmed? And what of Detective Inspector Jack Robinson? He’d heard from a fellow constable who’d arrived earlier how he’d given the City South Precinct a right dressing down just that day. If he was in a foul mood, Matthews didn’t want to add to it if the man found out they’d kept his partner from relief and left her in distress. This was not a good position to be in.

“It really is urgent, Constable,” Phryne said finally, tilting her head up when she felt more blood attempting to trickle down just above her lip. “I wouldn’t normally insist but this matter cannot possibly wait. Please.”

Whether it was the gentle pleading tone or the possibility of having his former boss come down on him, Matthews reluctantly agreed, “Alright, but please be quick? The inspector will be here soon and Commissioner Hall was very firm in his instructions.”

“Send him my way if he has a problem, Constable,” she said hurriedly and rushed into the powder room at the end of the small hallway. Her companion followed, barely giving the young man a glance.

Matthews shook his head, beating a hasty retreat. If either of his superiors found out about a couple of wayward guests then he’d let them sort it out. He decided the best move now was to keep well and far away and pretend he never saw the lady detective and her friend. Matthews was a good cop but he wasn’t stupid and something as simple as a runaway guest wasn’t uncommon in crime scenes this populated. So he slipped out of the hall, heading straight for the back of the unbelievably enormous house as he was instructed to canvas and wiped the encounter from memory. There was no way the lady detective would be the killer, so what was the point of Matthews letting himself get dragged into something so trivial?

The clever young man slipped out through the back patio to check the grounds just as the Detective Inspector Jack Robinson arrived on the scene along with Constable Hugh Collins. The hallway was still empty by the time the two stepped into the grand mansion and were taken straight to the possible scene of the crime. By the time the detective was nearly finished interviewing his former wife, Matthews was walking back into the house, passing Collins along as he informed him the grounds were clear and went back to where he was expected to meet Commissioner Hall inside the ballroom. City South Police Station was already on the scene which meant the burden of handling the crime scene and combing the premises for possible evidence would fall on them.

Contented with his own luck, Matthews forgot to check with anyone about the lady detective and the other guest. It seemed no one was upset so he took that to meam it hadn’t cause a problem and he felt more confident in his own judgment call. She did really seem to need the powder room, he saw no harm being kind to a good lady. Happily, he left it alone and moved on. This case wouldn’t be theirs anyway and he thought most likely it would be a case for the Robinson-Fisher partnership which all but guaranteed a success. Matthews would happily take credit for even a small smidgen of assistance he provided, even if it involved simply a powder room.

Never knowing the significance one brief moment could hold in a grander scheme, the constable let his thoughts wander well away from the incident. Until the very end, Constable Hubert Matthews would never know the part he played in what would be an unfortunate misunderstanding with inordinate repercussions.

And how it would affect all those involved that night.

o0o

The closer he was, the clearer their voices were.

“—we shouldn’t have done that…”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh, but the mess—”

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“Oh…you are terrible.”

Jack didn’t understand the bloom of anger that began from the pit of his belly that quickly spread to his chest. He’d seen the intimate way the two people in front of him acted, how she had leaned into his touch and how he felt brazen enough to keep his hands on her. He inspector tried to remind himself he was there for a case, that whatever was going on—or what was done—was none of his business if it did not pertain to a crime. Well, the particular crime committed in the library. The possible indecency laws broken in a powder room on the other hand—

He swallowed a snarl, clenching his fist on one side and approached the creeping lovers where they stood at the end of the brightly lit hallway. Phryne Fisher was decked out in blinding finery but her hair was a little mussed which he took as confirmation of his suspicions and kept his eyes well away from the latest addition to her ever growing string of lovers. The black cloud that hung over his head had now transitioned into a full-blown storm and he did very little to tamp it down.

Four months. He hadn’t seen hide nor hair of her in four months and she chose now to make an appearance. In his crime scene. With a lover. _After—_ in someone else’s bathroom in the middle of a party and a crime scene—! He felt pressure build up around his chest and behind his eyes and his jaw tightened.

“Miss Fisher!”

His voice was sharp against the staccato fall of each thunderous step he took and felt some form of grim satisfaction in watching the pair jump apart in surprise. Phryne turned to face him, wide-eyed and her lips bare and pink without the usual painted rouge she was so fond of. He didn’t acknowledge how his hand seemed to clench at the thought of how exactly her lips had been left bare. He did relish how the strange man with her removed his hands from her and took a step back at a more appropriate distance at his approach though.

“Inspector Robinson,” she was quick to gather her composure but he saw the way her hand twitched when he stopped, standing in front of the guilty pair. “Commissioner Hall contacted you.”

“Yes, he wanted to make sure the crime scene is secured,” Jack said evenly. “I was told guests were informed to stay in the ballroom.”

“I needed the powder room,” Phryne answered, her brow furrowing. “I was nowhere near the library, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Somehow I find that hard to believe,” he answered crisply, his jaw tightening. “Where were you?”

“As the lady already said, she was in the powder room,” the man finally spoke up, the gallant soldier stepping in.

Jack gave him an almost bored look, “Won’t you introduce me to your… _old friend_ , Miss Fisher?”

The words obviously made her bristle, “I’d rather not because I’m not sure I know who you are at the moment.”

“Phryne, please,” the man said in a cautious tone beside her, leaning closely to her ear before holding his hand out to Jack. “Pardon the intrusion, it’s been a stressful night, Inspector. Jonathon Lofthouse,” he had an easy smile and held his hand out as he spoke, “Miss Fisher needed assistance getting to the powder room. We were just making our way to the ballroom as per Commissioner Hall’s instructions.”

“You’re trampling over a crime scene and possible evidence, Mr. Lofthouse,” Jack responded with gritted teeth and took the man’s offered hand very briefly. “For that alone we can take you to the station so I suggest you think twice before letting Miss Fisher convince you we don’t arrest people just because they believe themselves above the law.”

Phryne looked utterly flabbergasted, “Since when did I ever go about saying something so foolish?”

“I’m afraid we don’t have all night,” Jack said sarcastically. “I have a crime scene. You, sir—” he looked at the old friend. “I suggest rejoin the other guests. Miss Fisher will remain for questioning.”

Jonathon looked reluctant to leave and seemed ready to protest but Phryne pressed a hand over his bicep and nodded at him, wordlessly asking him to go. He gave Jack a slight frown, looking more confused than angry and went ahead to the ballroom. Jack waited until they were alone, moving towards Phryne and almost expected her to move away. But she stood her ground, raising her chin defiantly against him. He had raised her hackles, he was sure.

“Surprisingly high handed, Inspector Robinson,” Phryne said dryly once they were alone, clearly unimpressed with his display. “But if you must insist…I was at the party with the other guests the whole evening.”

“You’ll need to do better than that,” Jack scoffed. “You were snooping around—again.”

“I was not,” she replied insistently. “We were nowhere near the library. In fact, I was with Commissioner Hall most of the evening.”

He couldn’t detect any sign of deception on her face, “And just now? Where were you?”

“In the powder room,” she motioned somewhere behind him. “I needed to—needed the powder room. If you refuse to believe me, I suggest you speak with Constable Matthews. He saw me go inside.”

Jack frowned, “Matthews checked in with Collins. He said all guests were accounted for.”

“Would I lie about something like that?” she challenged, her pale cheeks taking on a pink hue. “You are so quick to condemn me when I’ve given you a proper explanation.”

“You’ll excuse me if I have a hard time believing you,” Jack retorted. “You haven’t exactly made yourself into a paragon of virtue when it comes to police investigations.”

“That didn’t seem to bother you before,” the eyeroll she gave him set his teeth on edge. She never took a damned thing seriously, not even him. Especially not him.

“You’re right, it didn’t,” he shook his head. “And that’s my fault because I let you do it. I let you manipulate me—”

“Manipulate you?” she let out a laugh. “You’re not serious!”

“I am serious,” he ground out. “You keep doing this. Again and again.”

Phryne stopped, realizing how genuinely upset he was, “Why are you so angry?”

“Why am I angry?” Jack said incredulously. “I don’t know, maybe it has something to do with your continuous habit of turning every single situation into your advantage! And damn anyone else who gets in your way!”

“I haven’t exactly been the proper little lady you all seem to want me to be but I did what was right by those who needed my assistance,” she pointed out narrowing her eyes at him and placed her hands on her hips. “I did what I had to do—you didn’t seem to mind.”

His eyes pierced hers, “When did you care if I did?”

She frowned, “I did. Yet you’re acting as if I went out of my way to sabotage you.”

“You have a bad history of trampling over crime scenes—”

She seemed affronted by the accusation, “I do not trample!”

But it didn’t seem like he was listening anymore, “—hiding evidence from the police—”

“—help you solve cases!—”

“— snooping around and interfering with investigations—”

“—to your advantage—!”

“—so you can run around and play detective—”

“—I do a damn good job of it!”

“—and take the case for yourself because you’re too stubborn to do anything properly!”

“—which you didn’t seem to have a problem with as long as you could benefit from it!”

“—and add to the list of your crimes now it seems we can include fraternizing at a crime scene!”

“—I-wait—I…what are you talking about?”

Phryne stopped, utterly bewildered. She looked completely lost as she took a step back, seemingly processing what he had just said as her arms fell at her sides. A furrow formed along her brow and she let out a breath, “What are you talking about, Inspector? What exactly do you think it is I have done?”

“What you always do,” Jack all but growled, breathing heavily. “Show your complete lack of discipline and concern for anything and everything but yourself.”

“I think you are being rather unfair,” she pouted slightly. “What crimes am I meant to have committed to warrant such an indictment?”

Jack stepped forward, his eyes boring into hers, “You’ve crossed a lot of lines in your time and I have done nothing but look the other way and pretend to be the unknowing bumbling idiot. My fault, of course, but I was operating under the sorely mistaken impression that you, at the very least, had enough sense than to bring your liaisons into your little capers.”

“I wasn’t anywhere near the crime scene!” Phryne insisted, her eyes widening. “Why do you refuse to believe me?”

“Because I’m done looking away,” Jack hissed angrily. “I am done pretending I don’t see what is right in front of me and I am done being made a fool of.”

Phryne couldn’t help the hurt that flashed across her face, “You think me so treacherous?”

Jack clenched his jaw, “I think you don’t know half of the things you do.”

“That’s not true, I—”

He couldn’t help the sudden spike of rage that flew through him, “You care for nothing except sating your own desires—intimate, criminal or otherwise—born from your own selfishness!”

The moment the last words left his mouth, Jack knew he had committed a grave mistake. She froze, her lips parting though no sound came out. A wounded look flashed in her blue eyes and she took a step back from him, as if his words had physically impacted her and she pressed a hand against her belly. Words failed her and the hurt she did not—could not—hide was left bare on her face that had suddenly gone deathly pale. There was confusion embedded in the hurt and she looked at him as if she was trying to understand why he sought to wound her as he had, silently asking why. The obvious emotion on her visage seemed to bring him back and Jack heard his own words bounce back to him with disturbing clarity, his words echoing in his ears.

For a moment, time seemed to stop.

In the jealousy—which is what it was and there was simply no other word for the feeling—that he had allowed to overwhelm him, he found himself speaking to a woman in ways he never even dreamed of and it horrified him that it had been to Phryne. The storm brewing inside him had cleared much too late and caused him to speak and act in a way that would indeed be considered quite ungentlemanly before he could regain his senses. His mind snapped back to a more sedate place and he too paled, realizing how far out of line he had gone and how deeply he had to have hurt her for her to find herself unable to recover and regain her own composure. 

He felt a wave of shame and remorse wash over him and the voice in his mind screamed at him to take it back, to explain himself and make her understand his own failure to rein in his emotions. It wasn’t her fault and she had borne the brunt of what had been a truly horrendous day. Jack had taken out his own frustrations on her and let his demons get the best of him, unfairly casting her in its role. It was ugly, so very ugly and he knew he would never forget the look on her face, the pain he caused with the deep wound he had inflicted on her without true provocation. His jaw threatened to lock and he stood back, clamping a hand over his mouth for a moment before reaching a hand towards her.

“Miss Fisher, I—”

Phryne took another step back, even though he was too far away to actually touch her and shook her head almost imperceptibly. There was a suspicious glassiness in her eyes and she worked to calm herself, crossing her arms across her stomach, her shoulders hunching slightly as she turned away from him. Her lips had grown pale and dry and she spoke in a voice so small, he almost did not hear her, “That is…that is what you really think of me.”

It wasn’t a question and the words were said with heavy resignation.

His brain scrambled to catch up, his heart screaming at him to rectify the situation immediately before he could inflict anymore damage, “I—”

“Robinson!”

He flinched and pulled back, moving away from her as if he could escape the mess he had made and did not stop until he was pressed against the wall behind him. He made himself turn to look to where the voice had come from, if only to avoid being confronted once more with his carelessness. He couldn’t bare to look at her, to see if the hurt he caused was still there or discover she still could not find it in herself to look at him. He didn’t know what would be worst with either prospects but he knew it would hurt just the same.

Chief Commissioner Hall stood at the end of the long hallway, his eyes blazing as was flanked by Jonathon who stood next to him looking troubled and as well as Collins who seemed distressed. Just behind the men, his former wife hovered haltingly and Rosie had a hand over her chest and a mix of confusion and concern on her face.

“Robinson, what the hell is the meaning of his?” the Commissioner seethed as he moved away from the doors that Collins had so hastily closed to keep the guests from overhearing. “Miss Fisher was with me most of the night! What the hell are you doing questioning her for? You cannot possibly think she clobbered that poor girl?”

“No, sir, I was just—” he struggled to explain himself, much to his chagrin. “Miss Fisher might have seen something pertinent to the investigation.”

“As much as you must admire her abilities to detect, I doubt she can see through walls,” the Commissioner growled under his breath as Jonathon moved past both of them to approach Phryne. 

Jack turned just in time to witness Phryne allow her companion reach out and take her hand in his and gently pull her close. She kept her eyes downcast and did not dare spare him a look, keeping close to Jonathon as he stepped in around her and kept her on his other side. Without a word or a sound, they both passed the inspector and quietly moved away from him. The soldier’s tall form hid her from Jack’s view and both moved swiftly out of his reach, heading down the long hallway, past Rosie and Collins, and straight for the main doors of the house. As if out of nowhere, a butler and a maid appeared with both their coats.

A sense of foreboding came over Jack as he watched Phryne being helped into her dove gray fox fur trim cape. He moved forward and without thinking, held out a hand even though she was well beyond his reach, “Sir, they—”

“—have nothing to do with the crime, boy,” Commissioner Hall gave him a warning look, stepping into his path and effectively stopped his advance. The older man looked behind him and waved the couple off as he took one last look at them, not wavering from his position until they had disappeared through the massive doors of the grand home. He turned back to Jack, a dark look over his textured features, his expression set in stone.

Shaking his head, his eyes met Jack’s in rebuke, “They were in the powder room as Miss Fisher had taken ill. Matthews confirmed their claim, said he didn’t think to ask at the time but she did look pale, holding a handkerchief to her face and she all but begged him to let her go and right herself.”

“Miss Fisher has a history of withholding evidence from the police,” Jack found himself saying without thinking, remembering quite unnecessarily back to the first time he had met her. It had been in a washroom as well, hadn’t it?

“In this case, I doubt she would have had the time or inclination,” his superior responded gruffly. “This may look like a party to you but she spent most of the night securing the promised patronage of a few guests. She’s been working at the devil’s pace to finish one of the projects St. Jude’s Hospital set before her.”

Jack rubbed the side of his head, “I was just making sure she didn’t see anything that could have helped—”

“I spoke with Prudence Stanley about the matter some months back,” Commissioner Hall said in a low voice. “Her niece has let go of her youthful folly of being a detective. She hasn’t sought out such activities for a while, not with the amount of work that she has pledged herself to.”

The inspector couldn’t help but frown, “Be that as it may, she may choose to change careers, it doesn’t strip her of her undeniable skills of observation and deduction.”

“But it does confirm that she was not, how you say—snooping—as you so saw fit to accuse her,” the Commissioner said, staring at him as if seeing him for the first time then slowly shook his head. “It’s been a long day, Robinson. Go home. I’ll have Weiss handle this.”

Jack gritted his teeth, “Weiss? I’m perfectly capable of handling this investigation.”

The older man gave him a dark look, “I told you not to continue with this farce with that young woman, do you remember? You insisted it was handled, that you knew what you were doing and it was good for the people to have her on your side. I looked away but I warned you, Robinson. I told you this would not end well.”

Jack looked down, closing his eyes for a moment before taking a deep breath and looked his superior in the eyes once more with unwavering resoluteness, “Nothing inappropriate took place between me and her, sir.”

He gave him a small humorless smile, “Are you sure? Because that looked rather personal to me.” He waved a dismissive hand in his direction and began to turn away from him. “Go home, Robinson. Sort yourself out and start fresh in the morning. This case will be given to Weiss and I don’t want you anywhere near it. Understand?”

Jack felt his stomach plummet, “Sir, with all due respect, I—”

“Do I have to make this an order, Inspector?”

He stopped, recognizing the threat for what it was, “No, sir.”

“I’ll contact Sanderson and inform him of the change,” Commissioner Hall sighed. “You’re a fine officer, Robinson not all days are good. As long as no grievances are filed…we can forget this ever happened.”

Though his words conveyed a form of pardon, Jack could not help but feel a sense of absolute loss.


	7. Chapter 7

The drive home had been quiet.

He was glad he remembered the instructions from earlier that night and it didn’t take long to reach Wardlow. Jonathon stopped the car outside the beautiful red and white house and made his way quickly around to assist his companion. Phryne had stayed silent but took his hand in hers as they made their way towards her home. The walk up to the front door was quiet, save for the sounds of their footsteps on the concrete and neither of them seemed to mind things as they were. His hand was warm in her cold fingers and he sought to engulf them in his to bring the warmth back into her skin, to bring some measure of comfort he felt she needed but did not ask for.

The front doors opened just as they reached the top of the steps where a very surprised Mr. Butler stood waiting patiently for them to enter the beautiful home. It was still early enough that he was still in his uniform, having put all the silver away and locked the rest of the house to make sure there would be no risk of uninvited guests. Dot had gone home for the night, visiting her mother and her family and would be back early the next morning.

“Welcome home, miss,” the older man said with a kind welcoming smile as he helped her out of her cape and did the same with her escort. “I must say we were not expecting you until much later. Did the party end early?”

The Worthington’s butler was actually a friend of sorts and Mr. Butler had been hearing fantastic stories about their parties and how it tended to go on for all hours in the night. He thought his mistress and her companion would surely stay for the lot. The parties were known to be quite the event, often a hot topic for weeks after for the set.

“There was an incident,” Phryne said quietly, turning to move towards the front parlor. “The police were called.”

“Oh,” Mr. Butler said, surprised and looked at Jonathon who shrugged and thanked him for his assistance. “Is everything alright?”

“I don’t know,” she answered dully as the men followed her into the sitting area. “You can go ahead and rest, Mr. Butler. Jonathon and I will be alright here.”

“Won’t you like a drink, miss?” he asked, his brow furrowing. “Tea or maybe a hot cocoa?”

“No, thank you,” Phryne gave him a small appreciative smile. “You’ve been on your feet all day. Go ahead, off to bed with you, young man. We can fend for ourselves for one night.”

Mr. Butler smiled widely, “As you wish, madame. But should you need anything—”

“We will be sure _not_ to call you,” she gave him an affectionate pat on the shoulder. “Goodnight, Mr. Butler.”

“Goodnight, Miss Fisher,” he bowed his head a little to his mistress and offered Jonathon a respectful nod. “Goodnight, sir. Do enjoy the rest of your evening.”

He slipped out of the double doors, closing it silently behind them. Phryne was already by the fireplace, having started a fire and now had her hands close to the flames to keep warm. She had carefully removed her intricately designed headpiece, laying the precious bauble over the mantle above her. She had sunk gracelessly though slowly into the carpet, folding her legs underneath her and keeping her bare feet under her skirts. Jonathon watched her for a moment, standing by the small trolley filled with top shelf liquor.

There was a feeling of melancholy blooming inside of him as he watched her sit there in her glittering party dress, the skirts crumpled underneath her, diamonds gleaming with sadness on her face amidst all the bright loveliness. Her pale skin stood out, as if it was absorbing all the illumination around her as it drew hungry shadows to her, trying to kill her light as they crept closer. Where she had been gay and full of life earlier in the night, she was now forlorn and withdrawn, like somehow she could no longer remember the joyous laughter that her own lips had been singing.

If she realized he was still in the room, it didn’t show. Phryne was too entranced watching the flames between her fingers, trying to bring warmth back into her body. She had felt nothing but coldness, not since the last moments of her unanticipated confrontation with Jack. She hadn’t been prepared to see him, not after so long, and she hadn’t realized Commissioner Reginald Hall would have called him, of all people. It was a shock to her system, seeing him after such a long separation. It hadn’t been at all how she had anticipated being reunited with him again. 

They had not parted on the best of terms, but she did not think he would be so angry with her, especially now after so long. She had done as he had asked, fulfilled his request. Phryne couldn’t understand why he seemed so resentful of her presence, so incensed by her mere existence. It hurt, seeing how much revulsion he seemed to have for her now after everything they had been through. She knew she had made him angry during the Gerty Haynes investigation, but his anger hadn’t been so strong during the case afterwards that involved Beatrice Mason. What had changed so drastically between then and now? Why did he seem even angrier when, for once, she had actually listened to him when he always complained she never did? It left her so confused and so utterly despondent, wondering what she had done to make him hate her so.

Phryne had honestly thought that distance would be sufficient, that if she stayed away for a proper length of time, Jack would calm down and his anger would go away. But that hadn’t been the case, it turned out. He was well and truly finished with her. He had to have been so happy to have been rid of her, having to see her again so suddenly seemed to shatter all of that sense of contentment and only left him even more upset with her. She felt foolish and childish, thinking that she could so easily be forgiven and things would simply be forgotten. 

Even though it was never her intention to do so, she had hurt Jack, but she truly didn’t think she’d hurt him so deeply he would be so resolved to never see her again. Phryne swallowed harshly, feeling a heavy lump in her throat and blinked back the tears that had begun to blur her vision. Her eyes swam until the flames turned into nothing but a swirling mess of orange and yellow, feeling the tightness that had begun in her chest at Worthington Manor had turned into a vice grip around her torso. She wanted to cry but also did not want to, denying herself the emotional release her soul and her body ached for. 

She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself and bent her head and her body curled tightly forward. It hurt so deeply even the simple act of breathing seemed too much of a burden in her state. So caught up she was in her turmoil, she didn’t hear Jonathon approach her from behind. Phryne flinched when she felt him place a soft cashmere blanket around her. She looked up as he sat beside her, white bow tie liberated, his waistcoat shed, suit jacket gone and the sleeves of his stark white shirt rolled up to his elbows. She pulled the blanket closer around her, burying her face briefly into the fabric and inhaled the soft lavender scent before looking at him once more.

Phryne gave him a small smile, “Not quite the evening you were promised.”

“Well, I’ve certainly had better but,” Jonathon shrugged one shoulder, pulling his knees up and leaned forward to rest his elbows on them. “I’d say a little adventure never hurt anyone.”

“I wouldn’t call that an adventure,” she scoffed. “It was a poor showing, on all our parts.”

Jonathon gave her a soft look, “It wasn’t your fault, Phryne.”

“It was, one way or another,” she said quietly, looking away from him and back into the fire. “I am trouble.”

He chuckled, “Yes, you are. I always liked that about you.”

“Even that time your father gave you a good walloping because we got caught throwing fireworks at your tutor?” she asked, smiling a little.

Jonathon let out a small laugh, “Even then. You snuck me some sweeties the next day, if I remember correctly.”

He laughed at the memory, remembering little Phryne Fisher sneaking up into his bedroom the next morning when he had been too sore to get out of bed. The Lofthouse family’s butler Crippins had all but shooed her off the property, giving her a stern look and a veiled scolding for getting his charge in trouble so severely. She’d gone back into the town, bought some of his favorite sweets and snuck back into the Lofthouse Manor and presented them to him. It was the first time that day Jonathon had smiled and they shared the treats between them.

“I felt bad,” she mumbled. “You were always covering for me.”

“And you always were my great defender,” he smiled and nudged her again with his shoulder. “Come on, up with you, lazy bean. I was promised some lovely drinkies.”

Phryne’s smile widened, “I knew you had an ulterior motive, Lofthouse.”

“Always,” he smirked then pushed himself up to stand and held his hand out to her.

She took his hand and allowed him to lead her to the trolley where, with some flourish, he prepared drinks for the two of them. He did his best and so succeeded to make her laugh, presenting her with a perfectly concocted Old Fashioned as he poured himself one as well. She led him back by the fire, this time to actual seats. She gave him the dark wingback chair and took the cabriole sofa for herself.

Jonathon watched her, draping herself comfortably in the seat with her drink. She was unusually quiet and there was an air of contemplation about her. He tried not to worry, tried not to think too much about the shadows in her eyes. There was too much to consider and a lot more he knew she wasn’t saying. He knew enough not to push her and though distance and years had kept them apart, the comfort they learned to rely on with each other was still there. He felt that and he knew she did as well and if she needed to confide in him, well, there was no other place he would ever want to be than by her side. He’d spent years allowing her to prop him up, he would do anything to return the kindness tenfold.

He contemplated his drink for a moment before deciding to break the silence, “Did I tell you why I came here?”

“Some crock and bull about selling diamonds and emeralds to Antipodean heiresses,” Phryne teased over her drink at him, sitting sideways on the long piece of furniture.

“You saw right through that,” Jonathon smirked, resting the hand holding his drink on the armrest. “But really, did I tell you? The truth.”

“Yes, you did…me,” she smiled cheekily but the shadows in her eyes dulled the effect a little.

“That is true,” he nodded. “Guy was so drunk off his arse…he was telling the most fantastical stories you could imagine about this Antipodean princess who became a lady detective, catching criminals, dodging bullets and bringing peace upon the land.”

“Oh, dear, how drunk was he?” Phryne laughed. “You know how Guy is.”

“I do but I know he’s not one for tall tales,” Jonathon tilted his head to the side. “You’ve been sharing your life here with me but you’ve never really mentioned any of those stories. You told me about the copper who got the man who hurt Janey…that was him, wasn’t it? The dour inspector?”

Phryne narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously, “You’ve been speaking with Aunt Prudence.”

“I wouldn’t need to have Prudence Stanley point out to me how dour that man is,” he rolled his eyes. “But that was him…he helped you get Murdoch.”

Phryne was quiet for a moment, “Yes. I…I was working with the precinct for a while. Well, I did some detecting and more often than not, our cases would just…come together. Inspector Robinson and I were a good team.”

“Were?” he asked, curious. “The man seemed rather…”

“Angry,” Phryne said after a moment. “He is angry with me…don’t ask me why. I think it’s everything. He thinks I’m too much trouble and not worth any of it.”

Jonathon frowned, “That can’t possibly be the reason.”

“Well, whatever they may be…they’re his,” Phryne sighed. “He is done with me, Jonathon. He made that clear…or at least tried to months ago. I just didn’t listen…as usual. He just needed to remind me tonight.” She drank deeply from her glass, swallowing the wince that came with it. “I don’t think I want to talk about this tonight, darling.”

“Alright,” he nodded, taking a drink as well. “How do you explain being attached to the hip to your aunt? Surely that you can discuss. Guy hadn’t mentioned that. He even said you tried to give her a coronary at his engagement party with your costume.”

Phryne giggled, “She wasn’t exactly who I had in mind when I chose the frock…but I suppose that was a perk.”

“Naughty girl,” he laughed. “So, what’s changed, dear?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “She was terribly upset a few months ago…I missed one of her parties. She pitched a terrible fit about it so I swore I’d make up for it. She lined up three engagements rather quickly…and I suppose it just went on from there.”

“But you’re actually in the thick of it, love,” he pointed out carefully. “You’ve become some kind of beacon among these people. They hang on to your every word…not that people don’t usually do that around you, but this is rather different from your usual crowds.”

“I suppose,” Phryne said with a slight shrug. “Arthur got sick and Aunt P needed me to cover for her and it led to some new projects that I actually suggested and it kind of fell on me to make them happen. I’m sure it won’t stay like this all the time…and I like it.”

“Phryne Fisher,” his eyes widened. “You like…being a proper lady?”

She gave him a wicked smile, “Well, not _that_ proper…”

“God forbid,” Jonathon chuckled. “But honestly, Phryne…are you happy? When I set my sights on this land, I was truly expecting an entirely different woman.”

“Have I disappointed you?” at first he thought she was teasing but there was actually a note of sadness in her tone.

The vulnerability was unexpected and he softened, placing his drink on the small rounded table next to his seat and moved closer to her. He reached out, taking her hand that was not occupied with her drink in both of his and cradled it gently. “Phryne…”

“Forget I said anything…”

She tried to pull her hand back but he shook his head, “Phryne, love…you know I could never be disappointed in you. I just want to make sure you are happy with what you are doing. You are happy, aren’t you?”

Phryne looked away, “I’m fine.”

“Not necessarily the answer to my question,” Jonathon’s brow furrowed deeply. “And frankly, that worries me.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Phryne tried to free her hand once more but he held on and she let out an audible sigh. “Jonathon, darling, this isn’t the kind of conversation for such a night.”

He shrugged, “Humor me, old thing.”

Phryne held his gaze before finally relenting, finishing her drink in one go before handing her glass to him where he then placed it next to his. She straightened her skirts around her legs as they draped along the cabriole sofa and rested her folded arm along the head of the furniture and cradled her head lazily in her hand though she let him keep the one he still had in his, allowing him to rub gentle circles on her knuckles soothingly. 

She didn’t know if it was his familiar touch or the gentle kindness he provided her, something she hadn’t realized she had been missing and given up seeking. Jonathon was comfortable and safe, something soft to fall into without fear of reprisal or rejection. Phryne needed a safe place and she didn’t realize this until that moment and something inside her seemed to unlatch and she couldn’t stop the words from leaving her lips.

“The inspector you met this evening,” Phryne finally said after a moment. “He’s a good man, Jonathon. He is a very good man…and I’m not a very good woman.” She lifted her head and waved him off lazily when he attempted to correct her before retaking her position, “Inspector Robinson is a good noble man. He takes his job very seriously and he cares deeply for people around him. He was good to me and he really let me…be myself.”

From his own history with her, however long ago, he knew there hadn’t been many people in her life who were so accepting of who she was and allowed her to flourish without wanting to change her. She was something incredible to behold when unfettered and he could appreciate any person who would willingly afford her this freedom.

“Like a good man should,” Jonathon agreed. “So…what was tonight about then?”

“I showed him exactly who I was, I suppose,” she sighed. “It was too much—I was too much and I gave him no choice and he walked away. He needed to leave before I hurt him even more which I understand. He had been deeply hurt before and I suppose he couldn’t face having to go through it with the likes of me once more.”

“Doesn’t strike me as a man easily cowed,” he thought out loud, remembering how the man didn’t seem at all intimidated to be among the privileged, not wavering even as he went up against Jonathon to scold him, uncaring of his position or who he might be. The man was so blindingly righteous, he was almost surprised he didn’t arrive dressed as a knight in full armor.

“He is the kind of man who will run into a burning building or walk into a hail of bullets if he felt it was needed to be done in the name of justice,” Phryne said simply then let out a sigh. “Matters outside of that…are entirely different. When he left, when he so plainly made it clear I was no longer welcome…I did some thinking. And then my mother’s letter arrived.”

“Your mother?” his eyebrows shot up, not expecting the conversation to divert in that direction. “What’s your mother got to do with this?”

“We started exchanging letters after Janey was…” her voice trailed off. “After Janey…I thought it was time we learned how to be kinder to each other.”

Jonathon tried his best not to react and point out it was never Phryne who was short of kindness in their household, “So what was in the letter?”

“Oh, just…Mother being Mother…” Phryne sighed. “We were exchanging letters and she said something about Father and so I said something…then her reply arrived.”

“She will defend that man ‘til kingdom come,” he mused, remembering the Fishers absolute devotion to each other. They were a better couple than his own parents but no better to their living child as his father had been to him.

“Mother loves him and she was trying to explain to me because heaven knows I’ve never understood,” Phryne’s gaze wandered, as if getting lost in her thoughts. “She said I was more like Father than I realized and if I’m ever curious about how I would be in a relationship, all I need to do is look to Father to know how I would be.” She winced, “Have you ever heard anything so…she said I had the best parts of him, parts that she will adore eternally but I’m also too much like him in many ways.” She bit her bottom lip, “If she had written to me she wished me dead and Janey returned she would have hurt me a lot less.”

Jonathon swallowed the urge he felt to rain down hell on a woman he had not seen in an age yet still infuriated him like no other, “She meant well, I think…just had a rather poor way of showing it. Your mother was never one for words, at least…not coherent ones.”

“It brought some clarity…put things in perspective,” she shrugged absently. “If I am more like my father than I am willing to accept then I really shouldn’t be with someone as good and noble as…well, not as if he’d ever shown genuine interest. I rather think he found my attention both flattering and cloying all at once. I’d hurt him already as I am…what more as someone sworn to love and care for him? He is far too good for me. He deserves someone truly good and kind…like him. I couldn’t bear it if I turned into a monster and I hurt him as my father hurt us. I couldn’t.”

“You’re too hard on yourself,” he said in a sad voice, frowning deeply.

“And your judgement is tainted by boyhood memories of better days,” she countered gently.

“I wouldn’t call those days better,” he returned, his eyes darkening slightly with memories of their shared past. “You saved me…I never would have made it without you. You were kind and you showed me affection I was always made to feel I did not deserve.”

“We were kindred spirits,” Phryne said softly, reaching for his face and gave him a gentle caress. “Broken lost souls nobody wanted and we were lucky to find each other when we did.”

“Luckier than some,” he nodded, closing his eyes briefly and leaning into her touch.

“Ever since my mother’s letter, I have been taking stock of my life,” she looked around her, as if seeing things for the first time. “I have had many people in my life…but most of them seem to only stay for a moment then leave. And men…they seem to fall in love with me only to have the blissful feeling fade as quickly as it seems to come.”

Jonathan ducked out of her reached and looked at her from under the hood of his eyes, “Not for all men.”

She glanced at him, eyes soft and understanding but still a little lost and forlorn. He reached for her hand, brushing his lips along the tips of her fingers, giving her a small nod to encourage her further. She smiled, taking comfort in his presence and the lack of pretense or judgment on his face. They never had secrets between them, not the life she lived during those dreadful years she thought him gone nor his unfailingly deep affection for her.

“I started life over when I arrived here…it was a new experience with the loveliest people. And then Inspector Robinson,” she paused for a moment. “Well, I never saw him coming. I enjoyed misbehaving, I enjoyed the rush that came with living on the edge…getting into things I shouldn’t. I loved it but in all the time I’ve been here—my companion has nearly been butchered by a rotten doctor, kidnapped at gunpoint, my household drugged and my daughter taken hostage. And all of it has been my fault. I take full responsibility of it. And Inspector Robinson…who was always noble and kind and patient and loyal to me even when I’ve shown little faith in him…he always does the right thing, you know…infuriatingly so at times but even he found me too much. I pushed him and I needled him and prodded him until eventually, he decided I wasn’t worth the trouble. He was enough of a man to tell me to my face…that, I can admire, if only for the kindness.”

Jonathon reached out, brushing his hand on the back of her head but she turned her face away from him. He didn’t say anything and instead, stood up and slipped behind her. She moved to give him space between her and the head of the longue, leaning back against his chest once he was settled with his long legs on either side of her. He held his arms around her loosely, keeping the cashmere wrapped around her and she laid her cheek against his extended arm as it rested against the back of the furniture.

It would be easier talking this way if she couldn’t see him and there was so much to say, so much that had been plaguing her thoughts that had been keeping her locked up in her mind in the last few months. It felt good, unburdening herself with someone she knew who would not be afraid, who would not be overwhelmed and who would not leave simply because she was broken and seemed beyond mending. He had seen her this way before, all those years ago, and didn’t leave when he should have gone running in a different direction. He had been a mere boy then, just as hurt and just as lost as she was. For someone who had been living in with so little stability and peace of mind, Phryne needed the safety that he so freely offered.

“He mattered,” she said in a whisper. “In ways I never realized until he was gone…he mattered and while others have gone and given up on me, him…he was different. I cared that he thought I was not worth his…well, it mattered to me. For all his kindness and his patience, I took him for granted and in my carelessness, I hurt him. I understand why he felt the need to leave when I gave him so little reasons to stay.” She closed her eyes, blinking back tears. “And all this time all I could think about was Janey…she would have been magnificent if she had just been given the chance to live…if not for some drunken mistake, Murdoch would have gotten the right girl and she would have lived. She had so much love and she was so adored…everyone loved Janey. I did nothing but infuriate people but Janey was loved.”

“Phryne…” he closed his eyes, unwilling to imagine the implications of her words and what she meant by _the wrong girl_. It was too painful to imagine if he was understanding correctly what she wasn’t saying.

“It’s true, Jonathon,” she insisted firmly. “Janey was a good girl…I never knew how to be. She was soft and gentle and kind. She was simply _good_ and I thought—I thought if she’d been alive, Janey would be someone fantastic. She would light up any room she would enter…so I thought, I could learn from Janey. I could be good, I could learn and maybe then…” she breathed in deeply. “It sounds foolish but I have been good…I’ve done right by Aunt Prudence and I’ve tried my best to make a difference. Be better. Now people can’t seem to get enough of me…those who scoffed at my presence, now can’t seem to help but gravitate towards me. No more vicious rumors, no more whispered poison…now they like me. All I had to do was be more like Janey. She showed me how…I learned.”

“This isn’t meant to bring people back, but I thought if I found new people…they would stay,” Phryne shook her head, her hair bouncing lightly and she carefully pulled his arms from her sides and put them around her body and closed her eyes. “For years, I refused to bend to the will of others and be stifled and it cost me so much. I had my fun but at the end of the day…I’m left pacing like a ghost in the darkness and I wonder…I’m tired, Jonathon. I’m tired of fighting.”

Jonathon held her tighter, pulling her against him. He couldn’t help but remember the young girl who had not been much different from the woman he now held in his arms. He understood how she would think this way, remembering all those years the careless words Phryne’s own mother had uttered at her that nearly destroyed her. It had been an offhanded remark, something said as a passing thought that Margaret Fisher probably never even realized she had said out loud. _If only Janey were here instead…_ and that had been one blow Phryne barely recovered from. And now, she had suffered another rejection and again, from someone she had truly and deeply cared for and what Inspector Jack Robinson had said, whether he meant it to or not, had pierced right through the armor Phryne had spent painstaking years piecing together bit by bit, layer by layer.

For all that she was, for all the good she couldn’t seem to see inside of her, Phryne was as delicate as she was strong. She was a magnificent creature and he had thought this of her ever since the very first day he laid his eyes on her. She was broken, in so many ways, but that was the brilliance of her. Where she broke, she made herself stronger and where she weakened, she made herself tougher. But it didn’t make her invincible, not to those who mattered to her and Jonathon wondered if the inspector would ever realize how a few careless words spoken in anger could bring down someone so incredibly glorious. 

It was bitterly ironic how, in an act of self-preservation, Jack Robinson had brought about Phryne Fisher’s undoing.

o0o

They had more drinks and the night lasted longer than they could.

Phryne had fallen silent after her last confession. She allowed herself to curl into his arms and let herself accept the comfort he so readily offered. They sat in silence for a while, letting the crackling flames in the fireplace meld with the sounds of their hearts beating that only they could hear. She was tired, visibly so and Jonathon knew he could speak to her all he wanted, say the words and refute every claim she put forth, but he knew he would not be able to change her mind. She was still too lost in her grief, mourning the loss of a friend and someone she grew to possibly love deeply. There would be no changing her mind, not until she allowed herself to heal and accept that while she had her faults, she was not as terrible as she thought herself to be.

In time, she will find her strength and recover, he believed this wholeheartedly. She had done so as a young girl after years of self-admonishment and self-loathing paired with the burden of having her parents’ grief over their lost child laid squarely on her small shoulders. Phryne grew with pain and learned to flourish in spite of it, forged in fire into a true survivor, and he did not doubt for one second she will recover. She didn’t even need him but if she was willing to welcome his comfort, then he would stay. They had been down this road before, so many years ago.

Jonathon did not know how to feel about Jack Robinson. He was neither angry or disappointed, not knowing the man enough to care enough to have a proper opinion. If he hurt Phryne, he probably did not realize it or rather, failed to understand the depth of it. She was masterful when it came to hiding her emotions and rarely, if ever, let it show if someone caused her pain. She hid herself away, let herself recover and would still smile through the agony if confronted by those who hurt her. 

This was something she learned living under the shadow of Henry Fisher, a man so determined to live in his own delusions, even the disappearance of a beloved young daughter had been met with charming smiles and sad eyes, erased with one bottle after another. Everything is fine, that was a common mantra in the Fisher House. You smile charmingly through it and move on. Failure was of little consequence, everything is replaceable and what hurts, you drink away and forget. Dance it away if you must and should that fail, run like the devil was on your heels. This was how Phryne learned to harden herself and smile even if the world be on the edge of ruin.

Jonathon felt himself luckier, having had a brother who was at least kind to him and Crippins the butler who always watched over him. He was never alone in Lofthouse Manor and what vitriol his father sought to throw in his direction, he had people ready to protect him. Lofty with his humor and his indomitable spirit and Crippins’ constant presence and quiet strength. Phryne had neither of those and she lived through the worst the Fishers had to give. If they were intentionally cruel, Jonathon was never sure, but they were terribly careless. They seemed incapable of understanding how damaging their offhanded remarks were to someone so young and devastated, offering very little solace to a young girl who had to learn how to be alone and learn to thrive in the direst conditions.

Feeling the ardent spirits rushing through his veins, Jonathon decided it was time to retire. He was beginning to feel the heaviness in his arms and he was sure he wouldn’t be able to guarantee making his way back to the hotel. He hadn’t received an invitation to stay the night but he hoped the household would understand if he ended up sprawled outside Phryne’s bedroom door in this state.

He shifted slightly, feeling her weight against him and realized she had fallen asleep. Their glasses were on the table, long dried and emptied. She hadn’t left the cocoon she had turned his arms into and didn’t show any inclination of being willing to let go so easily. He pressed his face in the back of her head and into her hair, inhaling deeply and let out a breath.

“Phryne…” he muttered. “Hey, lazy bean. Why don’t we get you settled, hmm?”

“Tired,” she mumbled, falling heavier on him. “Sleep, hmm…”

Jonathon chuckled, “Come on. You’ll break something sleeping here, old girl. Up you get.”

He moved from behind her, easing his body from underneath hers though he kept his arms secure around her. He had never dropped a woman in his entire life and he wasn’t about to start with a creature he was most fond of. He helped her recline on the cabriole sofa then moved towards the doors of the parlor and opened them widely. The house was still and Jonathon thought there would be little chance the old butler would still be awake. So he quietly crept up the stairs to the second floor of the home and went about looking for Phryne’s bedroom.

It wasn’t hard to find, the door left slightly ajar which led into a beautifully though curiously decorated bedroom. It was exactly how he would have imagined her bedroom to be—far from sedate. There were bursts colors everywhere starting from the deep purple walls and the works of art that would surely make Lofty’s wife blush. He smiled tiredly, pushing the bedroom door all the way open before going back downstairs. He wouldn’t have assistance helping Phryne to her bedroom and it was better to be prepared than risk stumbling about with an inebriated unconscious woman.

Once he was back in the parlor, he found that she had simply turned on her side, party dress and all, curled asleep wrapped in a blanket. He shook his head with a smile, picking up to put their used glasses away and made sure to douse the flames in the fireplace. Jonathon crept beside her, kneeling by the piece of furniture and gently tapped her on the nose.

“Up with you, lazy bones,” he said gently. “Bed time for you.”

That barely got him a reaction and he sighed, placing himself in a better position and prepared himself to lift her. Jonathon carefully placed her arm around his neck before slipping one arm around her back and then another underneath her knees, taking care not to pull on the delicate beading of her dress. He allowed the blanket to fall away from her, gathering her in his arms and made sure she was secure before beginning to move. She was small and barely caused him any strain, her cheek easily resting against his shoulder, smearing some makeup against his shirt but he paid it no mind.

He couldn’t help but give her a tender look before making his way out of the parlor with her in his arms. He was careful with his charge, trying not to jostle her too much. He hoped not to wake her, having noticed in the two weeks he had been in town how tired she looked underneath the powder and the smiles and the beautiful clothes. She hid it well but he didn’t miss the endless string of events, the full schedule and the then unexplained need to keep in motion. He didn’t know if she was sleeping but he knew she wasn’t resting. She was so busy running herself ragged to keep from focusing on the grief that plagued her, he worried she might not realize how close she was to a collapse that might be inevitable in all this frenetic activity.

Jonathon was careful to maneuver both of them on the stairs and easily managed to get her into her bedroom. He laid her gently in the middle of the bed where he had left the sheets pulled back. She didn’t resist, letting out a soft puff of breath when she felt her bed underneath her and simply curled up once more. He held his breath, waiting to see if she would awaken and found himself glad she hadn’t. Carefully, he removed her jewelry and laid them on her vanity then quietly contemplated waking her to have her slip out of her silver gown but then found he didn’t have the heart to disturb her so instead, he covered her with the light sheet. He hoped her companion might return early the next morning to assist Phryne out of her dress. He couldn’t imagine it would be pleasant to awaken in such a frock that was somewhat heavily covered in intricate beading.

He had meant to just sit for a moment, to let the sudden wave of exhaustion that overtook him pass before finding a place for himself to rest. He perched himself on the foot of her bed with his back to her. At first he cradled his suddenly heavy head in his hand before slowly easing back, sinking into the mattress and tried to keep himself conscious. But he was so tired and it was so late and he still had those drinks running through his system. Jonathon told himself he’d only take a moment, get his bearings back and go find himself some accommodations for the night.

But the more he laid there thinking about getting up and leaving the room, the more his body seemed to refuse to follow his plans. His eyes grew heavier and the duration between how long he could keep his eyes open seemed to reduce with each attempt. He let out a breath, tried once more to get up and found his body completely unresponsive. All he could do was let out a deep groan before finally succumbing to sleep, quietly cursing himself in the darkness before losing consciousness altogether.

When dawn started to creep in, Jonathon Lofthouse’s supine form was curled at the foot of Phryne’s bed on top of the covers, feet still clad in his shoes spilling over the edge of one side. The owner of the house was buried in the soft sheets, her gown well and truly rumpled but sleeping rather deeply and soundly. Their bodies did not touch and they were modestly kept apart by bedclothes but feeling the other’s presence in the room seemed to keep them both comfortable and contented.

Dot would arrive early that morning, barely swallowing a small squeak when she found the passed out but thankfully fully clothed unexpected guest in the oddest position she’d ever seen. Her eyes drifted to her mistress who was also just as asleep still dressed in her gown from the evening before.

Well, that would not do, she thought, biting the inside of her cheek. Phryne wouldn’t be comfortable and Jonathon certainly couldn’t be comfortable. But then it was a task she was not entirely familiar with. She had grown accustomed to her mistress with her guests but never in the light of day and certainly never in slumber. She knew she needed to get Phryne out of her dress and into more comfortable clothing but what of Jonathon? And his shoes. He couldn’t possibly be comfortable sleeping in dress shoes.

Feeling quite unsure with herself, the young lady’s companion exited the room just as quietly as she entered and closed the door behind her. She would consult Mr. Butler, surely he would know what to do.

“Well, I’d start with the shoes,” the old butler said with a rather amused look on his face. “And I’m sure Miss Fisher wouldn’t mind being in more comfortable clothing.”

“But I can’t change her with…him in the room,” Dot whispered the last part rather comically, her eyes wide with alarm. “And what happens if he wakes up?”

“Poor chap will probably want some breakfast,” he nodded towards the variety of foods that he was in the process of putting together. The water was ready for tea and coffee, depending on the morning’s preferences and the breakfast table had been laid out.

“Oh, Mr. Butler, I hate to ask—” Dot seemed more than a little anxious.

“But of course, dear,” he smiled pleasantly as he placed his cookware aside and unbuttoned the apron he had attached to his front. “I’ll assist where I can although I’m not sure we should expect them out and about anytime soon. Miss Fisher and Mr. Lofthouse stayed up quite late last night.”

“Parties always run late,” she shrugged absently as they made their way out of the kitchen,

“Oh, not last night,” Mr, Butler responded. “They arrived quite early. There was an incident and the police were called in so they went home. They shared a nightcap in the parlor.”

Dot blinked, surprised. “Was it a murder?”

“You would think so with Miss Fisher in attendance but that does not seem to be the case,” the butler chuckled lightly. “Just a little incident. Bumped into their man at the markets early this morning. One of their maids were found unconscious in the library. Nasty bump in the head but she’ll live.”

The younger woman’s eyes were wide, “That sounds like more than a little incident.”

Mr. Butler hid a smile, noting the instincts honed through their mistress’ dabbling in detecting was indeed shining through on the inquisitive keen-eyed Dot. He simply nodded, letting her move ahead of him up the stairs and they silently agreed the conversation would need to be ceased. They were appreciated quite abundantly for their discretion and they surely did not want to get caught gossiping about such things. They valued their employer’s faith in them far too much.

When they arrived at the bedroom, Dot knocked softly before waiting a moment to proceed. She had learned this particular lesson the hard way that one time with one of her mistress’ guests, an experience she very much would prefer not to repeat. In her defense, she’d heard noises that made her think her mistress was in pain and had burst in with the best intentions. Dot still blushed furiously every time she remembered the oddest position the lovers had been in and she had wondered for a while what that rodeo man’s head was doing between her—well, it had been something Dot was completely unfamiliar with. Miss Fisher had offered to explain, but Dot was too mortified and terrified to know. All the same, her mistress offered her a range of books in her library if she was ever curious.

Touching her cheek slightly, Dot opened the door and was somewhat relieved to find the two occupants hadn’t changed positions at all. Phryne was on her side, her back to the door with her hair all over the place and curled up with her knees close to her chest. Jonathon was on his back, blanket draped over him and his feet still dangling on one side of the bed.

Dot glanced at Mr. Butler who nodded, moving towards the slumbering man and made quick work of his dress shoes. She moved to Phryne’s other side, pulling the drapes back to let in some light into the room and arranged the soft lace curtains to prevent confronting the slumbering woman with the rays of the sun too harshly. She picked up the discarded beautiful blue silk floral patterned robe from China Phryne was currently quite fond of and draped it on one side of the bed.

She glanced at Mr. Butler who simply nodded at her to continue, assuring her that the other male company in the room was still very much dead to the world. Dot gently pulled back the sheet from Phryne’s form which seemed to rouse her from her slumber and she began to move, letting out a small huff of breath and pushed the hair lazily out of her eyes. 

Dot waited, watching as the dark haired beauty took a moment to gather herself back to consciousness before finding her companion with her sharp blue eyes. She blinked a few times, smiling a little and uttered a croaking morning greeting which was received happily. Quietly, Mr. Butler exited the room, trusting Dot to be able to handle things from there now that Phryne was awake.

“Was that Mr. Butler?” Phryne asked with a small yawn, wincing as she slowly sat up against the freshly plumped pile of pillows Dot readied for her. She looked around, a little bleary eyed before her eyes landed on the male form sprawled across the foot of her bed. She blinked a few times, more alert now at the curious sight, “Oh…”

“I asked Mr. Butler to assist with Mr. Lofthouse’s shoes,” Dot explained in a whisper. “We thought about moving him but we weren’t sure…”

“That’s quite alright, Dot,” the pale-cheeked heiress hummed. “He’s slept in worst places and I’m sure he won’t mind being allowed to sleep a little longer. That man can sleep through an air raid.” She looked down on her body, realizing then why she felt so uncomfortable upon waking, “I, on the other hand, have committed yet another grave misdeed sleeping in this gorgeous frock…Madame Fleuri will have my hide for this.”

“I’m sure that won’t be necessary, Miss,” her companion smiled. “Nothing a gentle wash can’t fix.”

Phryne smiled, “An angel, as always. You are the best person to wake up to in the mornings, Dot dear.”

The young companion smiled, stepping back when her mistress slipped out of bed carefully. The dress was well and truly rumpled now, having been slept on for the whole night and Phryne quickly slipped behind her folding screen where she stripped off the frock and stepped out in her silk undergarments. She gave Dot an amused smile as the girl hurriedly handed her her silk robe, standing in front of her to cover her body from the unconscious man. 

Phryne efficiently performed her morning ablutions quietly, cleaning her face off of what was left of last night’s makeup and washed her out her mouth. She ran a brush through her hair, working around the room while Dot tidied after her, discarded silver frock already in hand and putting things away after she was done with them. Once Phryne was satisfied with herself, she quietly excused the young woman, telling her they would be down for breakfast and she’d take care of her guest herself.

Once the door was closed behind her, Phryne leaned back against it, watching with curious eyes the man who had slept through her morning’s activities. 

Jonathon Lofthouse hadn’t changed too much since the last time she had seen him. Perhaps he was a little older but his sleep-mussed blonde hair and boyish good looks were still very much there. His long form, too long to sleep the wrong way on her already impressive bed, was sprawled quite comically on top of her sheets. The top buttons of his white dress shirt had been undone but Phryne need not undress the man to see the scars that the Great War had left on his once flawless skin.

It had been years since she last shared a bed with him but she still remembered the horrendous injuries that had been left on his body. Courtesy of an artillery shell meant to destroy him and his men, he had been blown up like a toy in a sandbox, miraculously missing his handsome features but it left his torso and left upper arm in tatters. He’d been assumed dead when he was found among the carnage, having been more blood than flesh at the time as his uniform and skin were shredded by shrapnel in the explosion. It had taken a lot of him to let her see what the war had done to him and Phryne shed her tears for him and the cruel unfairness of it all. She had always thought him beautiful, with his broad shoulders, long lean body and his pale freckled skin. It had taken but a second to nearly destroy all of that and even less to snuff out his life had whatever god watching him not left him with enough grace to survive.

Jonathon had been angry and ashamed, too scared to show her what they’d done to him but she persisted, reminding him tearfully they never ran from each other’s pain and reminded him of their faith in one another. Nearly three years since he’d been injured and it was still heartbreakingly breathtaking, seeing what the carnage had inflicted on him and it had shattered her all over again, taking in the devastating map of misery and evil that had been carved so cruelly onto his body. It broke something inside her, being confronted with evidence of how she very nearly lost him to a senseless war that failed to live up to its impossible promises.

Phryne was familiar with injuries and war wounds, knowing well enough from experience his body would have healed even more though it will never return to its once pristine condition. She didn’t care—Jonathon was alive and that mattered more than looking beautiful or being imperfect. The war had changed his body but it did not change who he was—he was still the same man who liked to laugh and dance, still able to see the joy and beauty around him and appreciate adventure.

She moved across the small space between the door and the bed, kneeling carefully on the mattress and moved to sit next to him. Phryne pushed her hair back behind her ear and looked down on his form, noting the rumpled dress shirt and the wisps of blonde locks across his brow. She recalled the night before, the things she finally allowed herself to say out loud for the very first time. She braced herself for the feeling of shame and regret for her weakness but it did not come. Instead, there was an unexpected minuscule feeling of lightness, as if she had been indeed unburdened by being given the chance to finally speak the truth. It had been painful, it still was, but it brought her an immense wave of comfort that someone listened and she had not been rejected or scolded for feeling as she did. In the silence of the morning light of her bedroom, Phryne said a quiet thanks for Jonathon’s grounding presence.

It had been months of uncertainty and treading water on stranger tides for her, feeling tossed about and unmoored after her falling out with Jack. She had not realized how greatly the inspector had impacted her and how looming his presence had become and had not been able to face the feeling of overwhelming loss when he removed himself from her life. Feeling untethered and abandoned, Phryne had allowed her loss to become this all-encompassing being that robbed her of true joy and the ability to move forward.

However he might feel for her, she accepted that she felt differently and in varying degrees. She was not angry with Jack, more than familiar herself with her ability to frustrate and infuriate those closest to her. She fully understood why he did what he did but she also knew what she must do—for herself. She couldn’t fix things between them and felt he did not feel inclined to consider doing so which she also accepted. It hurt and would continue to hurt until it dulls into an ache, but she had to learn to let go of what was never hers to begin with.

Phryne knew what it is to be unwanted and to perhaps feel more strongly for someone who didn’t reciprocate the same feelings. It hurt just the same and she felt the loss just as strongly but it helped to recognize these feelings, to understand why she had been working so hard to harden herself and numb herself to the reality of her situation. She ran herself ragged trying to escape the truth, trying to forget Jack’s rejection of her, she forgot to focus on healing and instead give her love and her time to those who welcomed it. 

These realizations brought her some peace, a comforting kind of acceptance that helped ease the hurt in her heart. It wouldn’t necessarily mean it would make things easier but it helped to know, to find some measure of comfort in seeing things as they are and no longer wasting her efforts to avoid what she simply could not.

She would not deny that some of this clarity was helped along by Jonathon’s reentry into her life. She liked the familiarity of him, the safe haven he provided where she didn’t have to be afraid of being completely herself and be scolded or rejected for it. Phryne would never have to worry if she would scare him off—he had seen the very worst of her and then some. He was a good anchor to have after feeling unmoored for so long and she was thankful he had made that hasty decision that drunken night with her cousin in Colombo.

Unable to help the smile that graced her delicate features, Phryne reached out and ruffled the errant blonde locks across his brow. He groaned, turning his head away for a moment and she did it again, this time with her soft laughter ringing in the air. The corners of his mouth turned up at the sound and he opened his eyes, catching hers easily despite the grogginess of sleep.

“Good morning,” he smiled and she felt her heart lighten a little more.

And indeed it might very well be.


	8. Chapter 8

Every morning felt too bright these days, too nauseatingly colorful.

Jack stumbled into his bathroom one bleary morning on a Sunday. He turned the knob on his faucet and splashed some water on his face, holding his head in his hand for a moment before straightening up. The only option at the moment was to be upright or else he might end up getting sick all over the sink. He looked at his own reflection in his bathroom mirror, blinking several times to clear his vision. Even in his sleep addled state, he knew he looked like hell. His eyes were bloodshot, evidence of his lack of sleep and he could see the day-old stubble on his face. He had neglected to change into his pajamas the previous night and in consequence, found himself still dressed in the white singlet he’d worn the day before and a pair of boxers.

He flinched, shutting off the water quickly and turned away from the sink and moved back into his bedroom. He crawled back into bed and blindly grabbed a pillow then promptly shoved it over his head. Jack groaned loudly, shutting his eyes tight as he tried to stop the world from spinning, his stomach roiling and his head feeling as if it had been stuffed full of cotton. He shouldn’t have drunk so much the night before, he thought miserably, remembering the whisky he had so easily put away. Regret did always come in the morning, after all.

It had been two weeks since that unmitigated disaster at Worthington Manor.

His mind felt tired, running amok between his last encounter with Phryne, still trying to search for a way to make it right while also bearing the knowledge that with each passing day, she spent it growing closer to another and he’d had a hand in it. It was starting to take its toll on him, this heavy shroud of loss that he could not shed and the tumultuous guilt that he could not escape. He was moody, sullen, irritable and he looked and felt like hell. His work was beginning to suffer, his friendships non-existent and he felt as if he was floating from one disaster to the next.

After the confrontation that ended with Phryne so deeply hurt by his own irrational anger, Jack had tried to find some way to make amends. He’d gone home that night but could not sleep and went to work the next day even more miserable than when he had left. He tried to get through his day as if nothing had happened but he kept himself locked in his office, avoiding any interaction that wasn’t necessary. Jack left for the day, feeling an intolerable heaviness that left him unable to breathe properly so he made a hasty decision and headed to for Wardlow. He had been determined to make amends, to go up to that house and tell Phryne how sorry he was, beg her forgiveness if he had to and make things right between them.

But Jack could only go as far as having the cab he hired pass by the house when he saw the tall figure of Jonathon Lofthouse exit through the front door. He seemed to have been having a pleasant conversation with Mr. Butler who was walking him out and it did not escape Jack’s notice that the soldier was still dressed in the same formal suit he had seen him wearing at the manor. He had looked relaxed and in good spirits even in his rumpled clothing, his white bowtie gone and his suit jacket hanging on his arm. He’d been left with a mussed shirt and his white formal waistcoat but he smiled easily as he continued his exchange with the older man while the red-raggers waited in their cab at the curb. At a loss and utterly disheartened, Jack found that all he could do was foolishly duck back and hide himself from view and give the driver his home address instead.

He hadn’t tried to go back since.

After that, Jack buried himself in work and refused to emerge for anything else. The incident at the manor had not spread like wildfire as he had thought it might though he did get a call from Deputy Commissioner of Police George Sanderson, demanding to know how he could allow himself be taken off what could have been an important case. He made no mention of Phryne though Jack took that to be a blessing of sorts—unlike Chief Commissioner Hall, he saw little to no chance of the old codger, also known as his former father-in-law, letting himself be swayed by the lady detective’s charms. Sanderson had a distinct distaste for dilletantes, which he took Phryne to be and had always resented the Chief Commissioner’s reluctant blessing in letting them work together.

Jack had imagined Rosie would have mentioned to her father the incident but he knew her better. She wouldn’t be so unkind and rat him out for the sake of it. It was incredibly personal, what had occurred in that mansion and Jack knew Rosie had witnessed everything. She tried to catch him as he left, calling out to him as he strode through the large home but hadn’t been able to catch up as Jack would not let her. She proceeded to call around the station too, startling Collins but he avoided them. He couldn’t bear the questions and he knew he wouldn’t be able to withstand her interrogation. Rosie was her father’s daughter and she knew how to make people talk if she really wanted to. 

He handled a few cases since that night, mainly shadowing Collins as he worked and receiving case reports to review and clear. The first week after the incident had almost been benign, lacking the drama that had offset it but by the time the second week came in, Monday gave it a roaring start with a murdered young woman. She’d been found stabbed methodically and efficiently in an alley in Flinders Street, left to bleed out quickly in the darkness of the night. It hadn’t been a robbery due to the money and jewelry left in her purse and there were no signs of assault so they could not even find a clear motive. She held no identification on her and no one had come forward looking for her so she had been left an unfortunate Jane Doe in the City Morgue.

It had been Dot bringing in her sister, Lola, whose real name was Nell Williams, who would fill in the gaping holes in their investigation. The Williams sisters helped Jack find out the real identity of the poor girl when they came in to file for a missing person’s report that sadly ended with Lola having to tearfully identify the anonymous young woman’s remains. It had been an ugly end for someone so young and it devastated the sisters.

As it turned out, her name was Lavinia who had also changed her name for her work and her real name was Sarah Holloway from Bundaberg, Queensland. She had been enjoying her rather gainful employment at The Imperial Gentleman’s Club as a hostess alongside Lola. Shortly before her death, she had been considering converting and finding a more respectable means of earning a living but never quite got the chance to. Jack and Collins had gone to the club, intending to speak with its proprietor, Madame Estelle Lyon, who had a distinct distaste for law enforcement after having her club go through several raids in the preceding weeks. It made cooperation with their investigation impossible which was only further made complicated when Sanderson chose to hone in on that particular case. He shadowed Jack at every turn which only made the staff and the women of the establishment more reluctant to even acknowledge their presence.

Madame Lyon had been incensed by the intrusion and had told Jack quite ominously that should he fail to find out the killer of one of her girls, he would come to regret it dearly. He’d thought for a moment that it was some sort of threat but then a break in at the club occurred that tragically ended with Madame Lyon falling off a very high balcony, Jack knew she had been warning him about something bigger. The coroner couldn’t determine if the woman had been thrown off or jumped but there was little doubt for Jack on the matter. Someone had done away with the madame and it was possible her death was directly linked to Lavinia’s. Though why someone would kill a hostess and a club owner, Jack wasn’t sure.

Lola had nothing else to offer after that, other than the fact that Lavinia was the apparent favorite of Madame Lyon and everyone seemed to know this and accept for a fact. As for enemies, the club had many from the likes of George Sanderson and his rabid campaign to cleanse the city to politicians trying to earn their stripes with voters to local women’s groups who were opposed to such establishments. Jack tried to find clues in the Club Registry but that had proven to be a useless avenue considering nearly every single name in the book were either made up or there were simply an abundance of John Smiths and John Does in the greater Melbourne area.

The case would go nowhere and Jack had two dead women who didn’t seem fated to receive any form of justice. There wasn’t much public outcry or even notable coverage in the papers. To people, this was just another case of a good girl gone bad who met an unfortunate end and the woman responsible for such sins having been made to pay for them in blood. But it wasn’t so simple, not for the grieving family of Sarah Holloway or the young daughter Madame Lyon had left behind who now had nobody. 

Jack had not even known about the daughter whose father was not listed on the birth certificate. There were no records of family that she could go to and the young Lyon girl was destined to end up in a group home which was tragic in and of itself. There was nothing they could do for the young girl and she would have to stay with welfare until she turned eighteen which won’t be for another six years. 

They couldn’t close the case but the trail was growing cold, though there really wasn’t much of it to begin with. There were no witnesses to both killings and there were little ways to get people to talk. The women who worked at the club were now in need of jobs and no one wanted to be labeled a snitch and risk having other possible employers find out. What little evidence there were, led nowhere and couldn’t point in a specific direction. What the coroners could tell from the bodies about the killer or killers was that whoever had committed the crimes, they were efficient and they knew how to kill. Most likely a man large enough to have overpowered Madame Lyon who was most likely fighting for her life and someone Lavinia knew and trusted.

Jack had left the office that Friday to recriminations and accusations from Dot’s distraught sister, accusing him of not giving a damn because of what the women did for a living. He did little to defend himself, quietly apologizing before removing himself from the situation. There were no answers and as much as Jack loathed to accept it, there were just some cases that wouldn’t have a favorable ending. This was a horrible loss, one which Sanderson had thrown a massive fit over and caused him to threaten Jack into a review. 

He didn’t care. Review boards were part of the system and if Sanderson felt it necessary, he would face them. Jack hadn’t felt right, not since that night at the manor, but this feeling was compounded even more by the investigation. He felt like he was missing something a vital detail, like it was right in front of him but he could not see it. He had sat down with Collins late one night, tossing about the facts and trying to see if they could both find something together. It hadn’t worked and both men went home tired and dejected, failure weighing them heavily.

At some point, he had quietly asked Collins why it wasn’t being covered by Phryne, who he knew for sure would break her own resolutions if it meant helping Dot and her family. Collins had hesitated for the briefest of moments before informing him that Phryne had gone out of town on her plane and had not left any specific date of her return. She had left the week after the incident and had not been back since.

Even the papers took notice and somehow, despite her absence she still managed to make headlines. _‘Heiress in Flight’_ one of those blasted columns by Frank Burn boasted. Jack didn’t mean to read it and had, in fact, been avoiding any such occurrences but this page had been sent to him by Mac with a note from her that simply read in her crisp scrawl, _“What did you do?”_ as if she already knew this was somehow his fault. Not that he would deny it.

Safe to say, that hadn’t helped at all his brooding spirit.

Trying to rid his mind of those thoughts, Jack snatched the pillow from his head and turned over, which he quickly realized was a bad idea when he was suddenly hit by a dizzy spell. He groaned, covering his eyes with one hand and tried his best to regulate his breathing as he rode out the nauseating wave. He was a right mess and he couldn’t bring himself to get up and start righting himself. He’d kept himself properly propped up during the week but on the weekends he crawled into oblivion when he had the chance. He grabbed that chance with both hands the night before and now he was paying for it quite dearly.

Still, this sick feeling was nothing compared to the dark cloud that had permanently attached itself to him. Just how contorted could his life get? How much more complicated could things become? Wasn’t there someone who said that once you reach bottom, there’s nothing else to do but go back up? If so, then why couldn’t he seem to find a way to get back onto the surface? Why couldn’t he just find the air he needed, and breathe again?

Lost in his thoughts and trying to ignore the sick feeling permeating through his body, he didn’t hear the knocking on his front door. He was so caught up in his misery, he missed the sound of the same door opening and closing, followed by a gentle voice calling out for him. 

Rosie Sanderson wasn’t surprised to find her key still fit the lock of home she used to share with her former husband. She walked through the place she used to call home, noting the changes here and there. It had been nearly four years since she lived there and nearly two since she’d stepped foot in the property. A lot of subtle changes had occurred, ones that made the home feel more like his and no longer theirs. She was so sure Jack would sell their home, find something for himself that would fit a bachelor but he didn’t, choosing instead to stay in the home that was much too big for one person. 

If she was more full of herself, Rosie would think it was out of hope for reconciliation but she knew him better than that. There was a higher probability he was holding on to the property because of his beloved garden where he grew his precious greenery, herbs and flowers. Jack hadn’t been much for gardening when they met but that had been one of the changes that had occurred within him after returning from the war.

Walking straight into the kitchen, Rosie’s eyebrows lifted when she noticed the place looked untouched. She knew the housekeeper still kept the same weekday schedule Jack set after she moved out so she was surprised there was no sign of activity for food preparation. Not that Jack was particularly messy but he wasn’t perfect, an odd dish or a stray cup in the sink after a meal now and then was something even she could not shake out of him. It was just past noon, Rosie was sure she would catch him in there or at least find some hint of activity.

Looking around the space as she exited the kitchen, her eyes drifted towards the set of stairs leading up to the rooms. She frowned, letting out a puff of breath before checking her delicate gold wristwatch. She still had time and she couldn’t waste a trip seeing as she was already there anyway. So she squared her shoulders, took a deep breath and marched up the stairs where the bedroom she shared with her former husband was. As absurd as it was, she was almost sure her hunch was right about where she would find the elusive inspector.

Reaching the top of the landing, she wasn’t surprised to find the master bedroom door partially open. This was also something they tended to argue about when they were married—Jack liked the door open to let some light in during the night but Rosie didn’t because it always scared her out of her wits when the wind would slam the door shut which happened often enough. She shook her head with a small smile, finding it amusing now that she no longer had to deal with it. Marriage did funny things to people.

“Jack?” she called out once she reached the door, knocking lightly,

There was a groan and she saw a lump on top of the bed, starting a pair of familiar strong legs bare past the lower thighs and a torso covered in a plain white cotton. She frowned at the unexpected sight, seeing so many anomalies in a matter of seconds.

“Jack?”

“Oh…god,” his voice was thick with sleep and misery. “Tell me I’m hallucinating.”

She smirked, nudging the blasted door open with her shoe. “Hmm…‘fraid not, inspector.”

“Bloody…what’re you doing here, Rosie?” there was an unusual whining lilt to his voice, something she had never quite heard come out of this particular man. Well, this was getting more interesting.

“A little rude, Jack,” she said dryly. “I knocked. There was no answer.”

“So you came in uninvited instead?” Jack removed his hand from his eyes, lifting his head to look at her blearily. His wild curling dark hair was untamed by his favored pomade and it left the springy locks piled wild on his head.

“Well, this used to be my home too…”

Jack sat up, placing a pillow across his lap and gave her a grumpy look. “Divorced, Rosie.”

“Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten,” she leaned against the doorframe. “It’s past noon.”

“Which still doesn’t explain why you’re here,” he groused, running his hand through his unruly hair. He kept one eye open as if having them both on hurt and she didn’t have to be married to him to know what that meant. “So, again. Why are you here?”

“You’ve been avoiding my calls,” she pointed out, averting her eyes away respectfully when Jack finally crawled out of bed. “I called around at the station. Several times.”

“I’m sure you’ve heard from your father about our case,” Jack muttered, grabbing his dark blue robe from a hook and shrugged it on. “Been rather busy.”

Rosie nodded, “I heard. Sorry to hear it didn’t quite pan out.”

“Don’t waste that kindness on me,” Jack said, tying his robe and slipping his feet into slippers. “There’s a twelve-year-old girl without a family or a home.”

“Father mentioned that,” she answered sadly, moving ahead of him as he gestured for her to do so. He followed behind her as she headed down the stairs and turned down the hallway to the kitchen, “He said you didn’t have a choice? She ended up with welfare?”

“She did,” Jack answered dully, moving past her when she stopped by the small island on the kitchen and took a seat. “I’m assuming you didn’t come by to ask about my investigation.”

“No, I’ve been trying to reach you because I have not been able to get my mind off that little show you generously put on at the party,” Rosie answered, deciding she was done beating around the bush. “What was that, Jack?”

“Just a misunderstanding,” he shrugged, keeping his back to her as he busied himself by putting a kettle on and started to prepare a plate. He hadn’t realized he was starving despite the sick pit in his stomach. Just as well then at least he’d actually have something to throw up.

“Whatever happened to the amicable dissolution of your partnership?” she asked, recalling his words from that night. “That didn’t look so amicable…what’s going on?”

“Nothing is going on,” he grumbled. “And frankly, I’m not sure how any of this is your concern.”

“You were in the beginning of an investigation and had a screaming match with a possible witness,” Rosie pointed out patiently. “That’s not at all like you, acting so unprofessionally and also, raising your voice at a woman…unless things have changed so much since I left.”

“Things just got heated,” Jack said, grabbing some bread and popping them in the electric toaster. “I thought you were staying out of this.”

“Hard to do when it happens right in front of me,” she blinked owlishly at him. “I’m worried about you, Jack. I’ve never seen you dismissed from a case before. And honestly, did you see the poor woman? She was quite hurt.” She gave him a dark look even though he could not see her, “You were unkind.”

“Why do you care, Rosie?” he turned to face her, frowning. “I didn’t even think you liked her.”

“I don’t have to like her to sympathize with her,” she said. “The things you said…”

“Don’t you think I’m aware of that?” he groused. “I behaved poorly. I don’t need you to point it out.”

“So what will you do about it?” she asked, curious. “Because I think you did a number on her. She hasn’t made any public showing since and she has requested leave from various board meetings and now there are rumors floating about she’s flown out of the country with—”

“Out of the country?” Jack cut in rudely, forgetting the water that had begun to boil. “What are you talking about?”

Rosie paused, “Miss Fisher has been noticeably absent and people are getting curious. Prudence Stanley is quite unhappy, but she isn’t saying anything, of course. Not that it stops the speculation. There are people claiming someone saw her and that soldier at the airfield and watched them take off in her yellow plane. They haven’t been seen since.”

“Rumors, of course,” Jack sighed and tended to his kettle and poured himself a cup for coffee and another for her tea, “Collins spoke with her companion. She’s taken a trip but no, there was no indication that she’s left the country. She would have informed her staff.”

Rosie tilted her head to the side, “Well, that’s further than anyone has gotten on concrete information.” She pursed her lips, “Her absence has caused quite a stir. Hilda Swanson said a set of fat checks arrived a few days ago—four of them to be exact—with a solicitor bearing the strictest instructions. They were for all four current projects Miss Fisher was set to complete for two hospitals, one orphanage and that veterans and nurses group she was setting up with Commissioner Hall. All anonymous donations but more than enough to go ahead and finish the whole lot.”

“Wasn’t she raising funds for these organizations?” he asked absently, setting about to complete the preparation of their hot brews.

“Yes, but it was supposed to be through donations,” she answered, eyes following him wherever he went. “People think she’s simply gotten sick of the whole charade and decided to pay her way out of it. More than anything, what has shaken Melbourne society is probably finding just how much money she seems ready to throw about.”

“The checks were from anonymous donations…”

“Coinciding with her disappearance from society?”

Jack shrugged, “She makes astute investments, if I’m understanding correctly.”

“Family money doesn’t hurt either,” Rosie said with a slight tone, her nose upturned. “Must be nice to be well off enough to buy your way out of your responsibilities.”

“She doesn’t have family money,” he said without thinking.

Rosie raised an eyebrow, “She is Prudence Stanley’s niece.”

“Niece, not daughter,” he pointed out. “She wasn’t born rich, Rosie. She was a Collingwood kid.”

She frowned, “If that’s a joke, it isn’t very funny.”

“It’s not a joke,” Jack answered evenly. “She grew up in Collingwood. They didn’t inherit the peerage until the Great War and her father’s cousins died and he was the only one left to take the title. Money came with the title but not as much as you’d imagine.”

She looked dumbfounded, “The war was only over ten years ago…”

Jack nodded, “She isn’t a stranger to poverty or hardship.”

Rosie paused, thinking for a moment, “I suppose that explains a few things…that orphanage she chose to be a patron of—it’s in Collingwood. I thought it odd how she seemed to know so much about the place and how it helps children in the community. I never even knew they opened their doors to children who were not orphaned to feed them. I just assumed she looked into the group home.”

“Probably a place she was familiar with,” he nodded, trying to imagine how Phryne would know personally the generosity of that institution. “She doesn’t talk about her childhood but I understand it was difficult.”

Rosie bit the inside of her cheek, “Prudence never mentioned…although why she would, I can’t imagine.” She gave him a small smile, “Whenever I think I understand your Miss Fisher something always comes up to prove just how sorely mistaken I am,” she mused then crossed her arms over her chest, “So, what are you going to do about it?”

“About what?”

“Oh, Jack, I don’t have all day, let’s skip the games for now, shall we?”

“I’m not planning on doing anything,” he rolled his eyes and started to set all that they would need on a silver serving tray—a gift from one of his aunts for their wedding.

“Come on, Jack! You can’t honestly say you think that is the right choice,” she sounded a little frustrated. “I saw you and her at that footy match. You were both—”

Jack raised his hand in dismissal, “Nothing happened between us and it will stay that way. I was the one who severed our partnership. It was the proper thing to do.”

She didn’t look so convinced, “Is that why you’re rolling around in bed past noon hungover? Or is this one of those changes I’ve not been made aware of?”

“We are divorced, Rosie. I don’t have an obligation to make you aware of anything!” 

“Jack Robinson, I am not one of your constables nor a simpering lacky,” she snapped, showing genuine irritation for the first time. “Do not use a tone with me.”

He gaped at her, shocked at the scolding before making a face and turning away. He grabbed the butter from the pantry and started preparing his freshly made toast for himself quickly. For a moment, all the sound in the room was the scratchy scrape of the butter knife against the rough piece of toasted pastry as the former lovers waited each other out.

Jack was prepared to stay silent until she went away. It had worked the first time around and back then she had gone as far as England to get away from him. He thought sardonically it should work well enough again the second time around. Rosie, on the other hand, was prepared to wait if it meant cracking this bull she used to call her husband. She didn’t feel obligated towards him but she was curious and frankly, a little worried about him. She had never seen Jack go off on a woman like the way he did with Phryne Fisher, not even during the darkest days of their marriage. She didn’t like that version of Jack and Rosie wanted to know what was warping his behavior so badly.

He finished preparing four slices of buttered toast then placed those on the tray as well and studiously ignored her as he brought the whole lot into the dining room. She rolled her eyes, following him and watched as he pointedly set down everything on the informal dining setting and sat down without speaking to her. Rosie followed, darkly amused and took her old seat to his left, sitting rigidly with her arms crossed over her chest. Jack took a bite of his toast, glaring at her.

“Stare all you want, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Must you haunt me?” he grumbled, looking away as he swallowed. “Don’t you have a fiancé to pester?”

“Sidney is out on business,” she shrugged. “Father is preoccupied with god knows what and I went to church already today.”

He rolled his eyes, “You’re bored so your recourse is to pester your former husband?”

“Well, one must keep busy,” she said simply. “Idle minds are the devil’s playground.”

Jack bit back a childish retort about who he thinks the devil actually was in this scenario and kept eating. This had to be a circle of hell, he thought grimly, being ceaselessly pestered by nosy former wives.

“You might as well talk to me,” she needled cattily once he had gotten some food inside of him and actually began to look better. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I am more than capable of sitting in a room not talking to you, Rosie,” he retorted. “Or have you forgotten?”

“Very nice,” she smirked. “You’re getting grumpier in your old age, Jack.”

“And here I thought it was the company.”

“I’m not the one drunk mid-afternoon,” she batted her eyelashes at him prettily as she spoke with acid in her tone.

Jack rolled his eyes heavenward, “Please go away.”

“And there’re those manners I’ve been missing,” Rosie cackled. “Come on, out with it.”

“What do you want to know?” he asked dully, deciding to go limp and give up the fight as she didn’t seem to be showing signs of letting up.

“I believe I made my intentions clear already, inspector.”

“Nothing happened between me and Miss Fisher, contrary to what your spies were whispering to you before our divorce was finalized,” he said in an even tone, his hand tracing the rim of his cup. “She’s a notorious flirt but she never crossed a line, not with me. She knew I was still married.”

“How thoughtful,” she said sarcastically. “But I didn’t come here to rehash what may or may not have been the final nail on the coffin of our marriage.”

Jack ran a hand through his errant hair, “After the divorce…things didn’t change. There were flirtations and games but we never crossed the line. I wasn’t ready nor interested—” he shot her a dark look when she let out a very unladylike snort. “—and she isn’t exactly short on male admirers. Once she felt I would not be returning her advances, she found other ways to…amuse herself.”

“Can’t hardly blame the girl, Jack,” she rolled her eyes. “There’s only so many times one can expect someone to keep beating on a dead horse.” She gave him a wicked smile, “And from what I’ve heard about your Miss Fisher…she’s quite the avid equestrian.”

He made a face at her, “Very nice, Rosie. Really.”

“You’ve seen my sister,” she shrugged. “Lillian’s far more a handful than your Miss Fisher, but I understand…nothing wrong with a bit of fun.”

He gaped at her, “Since when have you become so liberal in your views?”

“I learned a lot while visiting Lillian in London,” she answered primly while he took a drink from his cup. “And being with Sidney has been an entirely new experience.”

Jack tried not to show his reaction to that, “How enlightening.”

“So…what exactly is the problem?” she frowned, tasting her tea then wincing. She looked up just as he dropped two sugar cubes into her cup. “You’ve shown no interest and she moved on. What’s caused such a rift that has you screaming at the poor woman for simply living her life?”

He avoided her gaze, “Something happened…there was an accident and she is so reckless and so thoughtless even when she is behind that blasted wheel of that blasted car—”

Rosie’s eyebrows shot up as she looked up from stirring her drink delicately, “She was in a motorcar accident? I hadn’t heard.”

“No…it was someone else but I thought it was her,” he mumbled and she smiled after tasting her tea again and finding it perfect. “It…it affected me more profoundly than I expected it to. I thought she’d died.”

She sighed, finally understanding. Yes, her old Jack was still in there somewhere after all. She could guess the rest of the story now. She might even tell it word for word without assistance from the source. Even before the war Jack had little clue about dealing with death and loss and after years in the trenches watching his brothers in arms die gruesome, senseless deaths, it did little to improve his handling of the matter.

“Of course she was perfectly fine and had no clue about why I was so upset,” Jack said almost bitterly. “So I decided it was best to spend some time apart. I was obviously getting attached in an unhealthy manner so I…sent her away. She can’t take anything seriously, of course, but eventually she listened.”

“Before or after that spectacular light show you call your temper?” Rosie asked tartly.

Jack avoided her gaze once more, “I was firm with her.”

She seemed utterly unimpressed, “She is a woman, Jack. Not a child.”

“It was necessary,” he insisted. “She treats everything like it’s a game.”

“And you treat everything like it’s a prelude to war,” she retorted. “So…something bad happened, you reacted badly and decided to disassociate from her…what’s this got to do with yelling at her for being with someone else at the party? You made it more than clear you did not want anything to do with her and she’s moving on. I don’t see what’s so wrong with what she did.”

“I misunderstood the situation and assumed she was…snooping,” he scoffed after drinking from his coffee. “She’s made a bad habit of interfering with investigations.”

Rosie looked confused for a moment, “Hang on…you and I spoke earlier that night. You said she was no longer involved in such things—hadn’t been for months.”

“As I said…I misunderstood the situation,” he shrugged. “I overreacted.”

She smirked, “That you did but I don’t think you misunderstood, Jack.”

“You think she was snooping?”

“No,” she laughed under her breath, looking down for a moment before meeting his eyes once more. “I think you understood exactly what was going on and you didn’t like it so you lashed out.” She tilted her head to the side, “You didn’t want your favorite toy anymore but the second another child picked it up…you decided you still wanted it and reacted badly when someone else started playing with it.”

Jack made a face, “Did you just refer to Miss Fisher as a toy?”

“You were jealous,” she said, ignoring his attempts to distract her from what she felt was the heart of the matter. “You saw her with that handsome soldier and you got jealous because she actually moved on after you rejected her.”

“I did not reject her!” he defended. “I made a decision—for both our sakes.”

“You removed her from your life…you don’t see that as a rejection of her?” Rosie frowned. “And if you truly believe that this was done for both your sakes, then why are you begrudging her for moving on? You felt you had to leave before things became more difficult, I understand that, _believe me_ —I do. But do you expect her to do the same thing you’re doing? Drinking your days away, burying yourself in work and never letting the world in? You can’t be alone forever, Jack. _No one can_ and if she has figured that out faster than you, that isn’t her fault.”

“I can’t be what she wants me to be, Rosie!” he bit out. “The same way I could never be what you wanted me to be.”

“Don’t you dare put this on me,” she warned darkly. “We were no longer good for each other, Jack. So, I made that decision to leave. You cannot sit there and tell me it was the wrong thing to do. We were both gone before we even thought about leaving the marriage…and you know it.” She paused, “What you and that woman had…whatever it was—entirely different story. _We_ made a decision. _You_ gave _her_ up…just because she isn’t sitting at home crying into her pillows doesn’t mean she is not hurting. And that does not give you the right to keep hurting her just because she did what you asked. It isn’t fair and it is cruel…and that is not who you are, Jack. It never has been.”

“Rosie…”

“Everyone gets hurt…and you’ve been hurt,” she sighed. “Maybe more deeply than I ever realized or will ever know but you do not get to monopolize the corner on pain…just because some are better at hiding it than most doesn’t mean it isn’t there.”

“I’m not so arrogant to think I’m the only one in pain,” he said though there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “I’m sorry if I ever made you feel that way, Rosie. I’m sorry if I didn’t notice enough.”

She gave him a tired smile, “I didn’t come here for recompense, Jack. Honestly, I was concerned about you…seeing you like that, it was worrisome. It isn’t like you to act so unfairly.”

“Maybe it was shock…I hadn’t seen her for months,” he rubbed the side of his head with his fingers. “It took me by surprise and I acted foolishly.”

Rosie nodded as she picked up her teacup and drank, “Maybe, but it’s understandable.”

“I need to work on…things,” he said carefully. “I cannot keep this up.”

She didn’t need to ask what she meant and she was glad to see some part of him thawing. 

“And with that,” she said with false brightness. “I shall ask again…what are you going to do about it?”

“I attempted to make amends the following night,” Jack confessed heavily. “Poor timing on my part, I suppose. She was preoccupied.” He gave her a wry look, “I was foolish. It had only been months, I suppose I expected too much, thinking I could just leave for a moment and come back. It wasn’t fair for me to expect her to wait.”

“Did you ask her to?”

“I suppose I left her believing our separation to be permanent,” he said resignedly. “And after the way I spoke to her last time…well, I wouldn’t blame her for thinking I no longer wish for her to darken my doorway ever again.”

“Oh, Jack…”

He waved a hand in her direction, “All my fault. You were right. I rejected her. I shouldn’t have expected her to stay for another round of foolishness from me.”

“Maybe it isn’t too late,” she offered hopefully. “If she feels about you like I think she might, surely—”

“No, I think this is for the best,” Jack said, smiling a little at her. “If she’s happy with that fellow…she should be with someone who makes her happy.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Jack! Must you be so melodramatic?”

He frowned at her, “What? What did I do now? You accuse me of being cruel and now I’m trying to be kind, you still have a problem with me!”

“Because your own stupid noble self is rearing its ugly head!” she complained, smacking her hand on the table and the tinkling rattle of delicate teacups was heard. “Don’t you want to be happy, Jack? She makes you happy. Even at my most jealous moments, I could see that!”

He was utterly confused, “I can be happy without her!”

Rosie looked pointedly at his toast, “Jack…I don’t mean to be indelicate—”

“Now? You mean you were being thoughtlessly indelicate before?” he rolled his eyes heavenward.

“—but you look like hell,” Rosie finished, ignoring his sarcasm altogether. “And you’ve not looked quite yourself for a while. It isn’t a great weakness to admit you have feelings her.”

“I have no business with the likes of her,” he shrugged. “Or you to begin with.”

“Honestly! You talk as if you were picked up from the gutter.”

“Rosie, please…this is excruciating,” he groaned. “What do you want from me?”

“I want you to be honest with yourself and for once in your life…be _selfish_ ,” she insisted. “You live your whole life in service of others—your family, my family, your city, your country. For once, Jack, just understand what you want and pursue it.”

“You make it sound so easy.”

“Because it is,” she rolled her eyes. “You make it more complicated than it should be with that unfailing moral compass of yours. What good is it if you’re miserable?”

“I remember you were nicer…years ago.”

“Hmm…I am still nice,” she trilled. “I just choose not to be nice to you when you are being a complete fool.”

“I’m being a fool either way,” he said thoughtfully. “If I am to believe your…assessment on the matter.”

“You could at least be a happy fool,” Rosie offered in a kinder tone. “Think about it, will you?”

Jack gave her a long look before nodding, “I will.”

“Don’t just say it, mean it!”

He smothered a smile, “I will, Rosie. I’ll think about it.”

“You’ll give yourself a fair shot?”

“I will try,” he conceded then gave her a gentle look. “Thank you for caring, Rosie.”

She stood up gracefully, taking her small purse with her and gave him a brilliant smile, “Don’t go bandying it about, Jack. You’ll make poor Sidney jealous.”

“And what a messy can of worms that would be.”

She chuckled, patting him on the shoulder as she made her exit. She moved down the hallway, waving him off as he stood up to escort her, “I’ll show myself out…while I still remember where things are.”

Jack smiled a little, “It was nice seeing you.”

“I’m sure,” her tone was playful as she went. “Goodbye, Jack.”

“Goodbye, Rosie.”


	9. Chapter 9

It took a week for her to decide to return home.

They had only planned to go away for a couple of days but Phryne had enjoyed flying with Jonathon so much, she kept extending their trip. They didn’t go far, simply flying around the Antipodes and staying in several different places. They didn’t have a plan and mostly sought out places where they could refuel and rest. The accommodations were not always the best and it was the most aimless sort of journey, she found that they were actually letting the wind take them where it blew. It was exhilarating and so wonderfully freeing, it took everything in her to finally listen to her companion and return home.

She had left Wardlow with more than enough funds to operate without her but Jonathon did remind her that they had Jane to think about who would surely be missing home if she was kept away for more than a week. So with a resigned but understanding sigh, Phryne allowed him to steer her home in her yellow plane, landing quite gracefully back in the airfield where already her red-raggers awaited with jaunty smiles on their faces. The drive home was quick and friendly, Phryne chattering away for most of the trip and her companion sitting happily next to her while her boys updated her on what they had been up to in her absence. In no time at all, they reached home and she happily bounded from the vehicle.

“I don’t know if you really care about dear Mr. Butler or you just enjoy flaunting your manliness,” Phryne teased as she watched Jonathon retrieve their luggage from the boot of the cab while Bert and Cec stood back and watched.

Jonathon smiled wryly, “I’d say whatever suits your fancy.”

Phryne pushed the gate open, breezing by the red raggers with easy laughter. Bert glanced at Cec who was smiling broadly at the exchange. They hadn’t been too enthused with the idea of their mistress going away for an unspecified amount of time with someone they still classified as a stranger but seeing the obvious changes after only a week away was slowly changing their minds. It had not escaped the notice of the commies how Phryne had been spending the last few months in a kind of dark mood she thought no one was picking up on. 

The household noticed, of course, even the red-raggers who weren’t even around her as much as her companion and butler. They had a good idea what it was that brough the black mood on, mostly that it concerned a certain detective inspector whose presence seemed to have been completely eradicated from the beautiful red and white house on St. Kilda. No one had any concrete answers to what exactly precipitated the event, but it was clear there had been some sort of falling out. 

To Bert, it didn’t matter who was at fault, if the copper was causing Phryne such distress and unease, then he was done with him and good riddance. He didn’t take kindly to anyone troubling any of his own and the raven haired detective was certainly that now. Cec, on the other hand, did hope for some form of resolution. To him, the detective inspector wasn’t so bad. A bit dour at times, but certainly a good fellow and their mistress certainly seemed happy enough with him. Still, if things were truly done with the two, he would go where his loyalty lay. He felt he had a lot owed to the kind toff who had changed their lives in so many different ways.

At some point during Phryne’s absence, they did try to ask Dot and Mr. Butler but they either didn’t seem inclined to share the real story behind the separation or they also didn’t know. The two diggers concluded they didn’t know either for surely Phryne would not be keeping up appearances so desperately. And she’d done well too, acting as if everything was alright and she was completely fine. She went to her parties, sought out friends and danced nights away with careless abandon like she would. But no amount of dancing and partying could hide the glaring fact that she had suspended her detecting business, something they all knew she loved to do above everything.

Using the imperial demands Prudence Stanley as a cover seemed to work for a while, but that could only go on for so long. Once they started to notice she was no longer being dragged into such events and seemed to actually be volunteering for them, did they understand just how deeply this divide between her and her inspector was affecting her. She was still the same bright, amusing and troublesome toff but she no longer sought out danger and detecting, trading in her hidden daggers and lock picks for glittering gowns and champagne evenings with the upper echelon of society.

On one hand, it was a relief knowing she was no longer getting herself into trouble and possibly risking getting hurt but on another, even the likes of Bert could see how the suspension of her detecting business was weighing her down. This did little to temper his simmering anger towards Detective Inspector Jack Robinson though, nearly going as far as accosting the man of the law one evening when they passed by the City South Police Station. He was sure the reason behind Phryne no longer doing detective work was because of the dour man and Bert had several unexpressed thoughts on the matter. A part of him wondered if the man perhaps had enough gall in him to actually command her to stop with her work and this only seemed to feed his growing ire more. How dare he tell her to stop doing what she obviously enjoyed doing? 

To the grouchy red-ragger, he was nothing but a no-good bully just as he had always thought before Phryne came along. These thoughts fanned the flames of his rediscovered resentment towards Jack but Cec, as usual, was the voice of reason, reminding him that despite the falling out, he was sure their mistress would not take kindly to them fighting with anyone even if it was for her honor. Phryne didn’t always make it easy, being her champion. She rather liked being her own champion so Bert begrudgingly backed down.

Still, if the man ever showed his face around Bert would not be able to guarantee his continued restraint. He was stretched taught as it was. Having the new English bloke around helped, at least. Bert was sure Jonathon Lofthouse was just going to be another airy toff but he was slowly finding his own assessment to be incorrect. Phryne seemed comfortable enough with him and after watching her mope around for months and pretend she was fine, it was a good change of pace, seeing flickers of her true personality reemerge.

“Miss, you’re home!”

Dot’s delighted welcome seemed to spur on Phryne’s enthusiastic return and she flew up the steps of her home and threw her arms around the younger woman. Behind them, Mr. Butler said a happy welcome and moved to receive the bags from Jonathon who politely declined. Phryne grabbed his arm behind her, pulling him into the home as she chatted away with her companion.

“It’s so wonderful to have you home, Miss,” Dot was saying though she eyed the bags that were being brought into the home. There were definitely more luggage than she remembered her mistress bringing which piqued her curiosity. Phryne, of course, noticed immediately.

“Jonathon’s had to let go of his rooms at The Windsor,” she explained breathlessly. “He’ll be staying with us for the time being. I’m sure we have a guest room or two that will suit him just fine, Mr. Butler?”

The older man smiled and nodded, “Absolutely, Miss Fisher. Are we expecting more bags or…?”

He kindly directed his question to their guest who shook his head and held up two heavy cases with two small ones piled on top, “I’m afraid this is all of it.”

“Light traveler, isn’t he?” Phryne grinned and turned to Jonathon. “Mr. Butler will show you to your room. I’ll need to freshen up, wash the day away. Flying is wonderful but it’s gotten rather messy.”

“I’d have to agree,” he smiled indulgingly, looking down on his somewhat dusty white button down. “Go on, love. I’m sure Mr. Butler and I will get along swimmingly.”

Phryne beamed at him and bounded up the stairs with Dot who already had her traveling case in hand. Jonathon watched them go, smiling fondly before turning towards the butler and the red-raggers. He picked up his own bags once more and looked around. He had never been upstairs and wondered if perhaps there were rooms available on the first floor of the rather spacious home.

“So, where would you like me to be, Mr. Butler?”

“Would you prefer a view of the gardens or the main street, sir?”

Jonathon shrugged, “I’d rather trust your judgment on that, I suppose. You keep a lovely home. I do apologize about the intrusion.”

Mr. Butler smiled and started up the stairs to lead the way, “Think nothing of it, sir. It’s been a while since we’ve had guests, I think some new company would be quite welcome at the moment.”

“Kind of you to say,” he answered politely and turned towards the two gentlemen. “Thank you once more for your service, gentlemen. Top notch, as always.”

“Anytime, Mr. Lofthouse,” Cec beamed. “Always nice to have Miss Fisher home.”

“I would imagine so,” Jonathon grinned. “Good to see you again, Mr. Johnson,” he nodded towards Bert. “And you, Mr. Yates. Please give my best to your dear Alice.”

“Will do,” Bert answered for his friend and tipped his hat to Mr. Butler. “We’ll be in the kitchen.”

“Help yourselves, gentlemen,” Mr. Butler answered easily and motioned for Jonathon to follow him up the steps. “Come along, sir. Those two will have no trouble finding their way.”

The Briton followed along with wry amusement as the red-raggers made their way easily through the home.

o0o

“It really is so nice to have you home, Miss.”

“Thank you, Dot,” Phryne replied with a warm smile, shrugging off her blouse easily while her companion filled the tub and poured some lavender scents in the water for her. “The boys mentioned something about your sister?”

“Oh…I suppose they would have,” she answered, her cheeks pinking slightly. “Nell came by after you left for your trip. She wanted to ask for your help to find her friend who’d gone missing.”

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t here,” her mistress said sincerely. “Oh, now I wish I’d kept in touch. Did she find her friend?”

“Uhm, yes, but…but she’d been hurt,” Dot said haltingly.

“Hurt?” Phryne’s eyebrows shot up just as she stepped out of her trousers. “Is she alright?”

“No, she died, Miss,” Dot said. “Someone killed her…in Flinders Street not too far from the picture house.”

“Oh, no, I’m so sorry,” she turned to face her fully. “Your sister must be devastated. Did the police investigate?”

“They did but so much has happened,” Dot sighed and proceeded to tell Phryne about the subsequent break in at the club and the death of the proprietor, Madame Lyon. She was breathless by the time she was done, “Nell was so upset…she’s moved back in with mother for the moment.”

Phryne bit her bottom lip, “I really am sorry, Dot. Had I known I would have come home and helped.”

“It’s alright, Miss,” Dot answered with a shaky smile. “The police did everything they could and they said they’ll keep at it. It’s just that things are so complicated, they couldn’t find a clear motive.”

“How tragic,” she sighed, taking the robe that was being handed to her. “If you’d like to spend some time at home and tend to your family, I would understand.”

“Oh, no, that won’t be necessary,” the younger woman answered quickly. “I’d rather be here, honestly. Nell and I never really got along…and she is quite upset with me.”

“With you?” Phryne frowned as she slowly and carefully removed her makeup. “What on earth for?”

“She thinks I…disapproved of her work at the club,” Dot said with a slight shrug. “She’s looking for work as The Imperial has had to close. I told her she can find work like mine but she’s very adamant about finding another club…mother isn’t very happy. They’ve had several rows about it.”

Phryne knew the particular club Nell probably worked for and for a mother like the one Dot had, she wouldn’t be surprised if the woman disapproved of it as well. Piousness was not something Phryne could easily abide but she appreciated it was a fine line to walk, living with a mother like that and having her for an employer but Dot handled it gracefully. She could only imagine the constant chaos of having someone as free-thinking as Nell and having a religious woman like their mother under one roof.

“Well, if you ever need time with family, just let me know, Dot dear,” she said affectionately, straightening up once her face was finally free of makeup and the grime from travel. “You can always come to me for anything, you know that, don’t you?”

“Of course, Miss,” Dot smiled shyly. “We missed you…not because there was a murder, but we just missed you. Did you have a lovely time?”

“It was wonderful!” Phryne said happily. “And I did miss all of you. But honestly, I could stay in the skies forever! It was absolutely exhilarating! You should come up one day, Dot. You’d enjoy being in the heavens.”

“Err, maybe not, Miss,” she answered with a nervous laugh. “I have a hard enough time on land in your motorcar. I don’t even know how those things stay up in the air.”

“Miracles of science!” was the answering laughter. “And you don’t have to fly with me. Jonathon is an excellent pilot. He’s been flying a lot longer than I have.”

“Sounds…interesting,” Dot answered absently, shutting off the faucet and tested the waters with her fingertips. “I’m so glad you enjoyed your trip. You seem a lot more relaxed.”

Phryne sighed exaggeratedly, “I am…this week has been…” She tried to think of the proper words, but found she couldn’t so she just shook her head, smiling as her short dark locks bounced along. She slipped off her robe and stepped into the bath, letting out another happy sigh once her skin met the hot water.

Dot watched her, holding the silk fabric against her and sat down on the side of the bed. She hadn’t quite seen her mistress so genuinely happy in months. The lightness she always associated with the raven haired beauty had returned, pinking her cheeks against her starkly pale skin. She seemed like she’d gained some of the weight she’d been losing too, looking far healthier than when she’d left the week before. The bounce had returned in her step and her jovial nature seemed to be back in its genuine place. It was a transformation Dot did not know she was missing and one she found to have happily returned.

She and Hugh didn’t talk much about their employers. They were certainly curious but still cautious and when they braved discussing the undiscussed separation of Jack and Phryne, it was always in halting tones. What little Collins dared mention, Dot noticed it always involved talking about how much work he was doing and how much time he spent at the office. She had noticed her beau being more skittish than usual the week before Phryne left for her impromptu trip but she daren’t ask, seeing how uncomfortable he already was. If anything, this only reinforced her belief that something else had happened that involved the inspector and her mistress, which prompted the sudden take off to heaven knew where.

As curious as she was, Dot didn’t want to invade Phryne’s privacy more than she had to. If she wanted to share what happened between her and the inspector, she would listen, but if not then she would understand. She wasn’t sure what may have transpired and she did not want to speculate but she wasn’t blind. She had seen how profoundly Phryne had been affected by the absence of the inspector and to see her so happy after months of silently struggling, it gave Dot an immense amount of relief.

“Miss?”

“Hmm…mhmm?” came the distracted response as Phryne lay her head back on the edge of her tub. The scent of lavender wafted easily through the room. Her eyes were closed a she felt a gentle wave of calm come over her.

She felt at total peace when she had been with Jonathon in those seven days. She didn’t think of anything or anyone except what had been happening in each moment. There was still a layer of pain, especially from the last encounter at the manor, but it seemed duller than it had been before leaving. The man she was spending her days with was healing her, putting her back together in ways she didn’t even realize she needed to be. After spending a few hours in the air and finding some suitable accommodations, she felt the tightness in her chest loosen and she found breathing to be much easier. Being away for a while, being allowed to be herself without fear of being found out or being confronted by things helped immensely and she felt freer than she had in the last few months.

The best thing about the whole trip was she hadn’t had to try. There had been no false pleasantries, lack of pretenses or guise to put up, no fake smiles or insincere conversations. Jonathon took her as he found her and did not expect her to make any apologies for who she was. Between his gentle kindness and generous attentions, she felt more cherished and cared for than she had in a very long time.

Remembering belatedly she wasn’t alone in the room, she slowly opened her eyes and turned, catching Dot watching her closely from behind. She smiled, “Sorry, Dot…you were saying?”

Her companion smiled, concluding she must have been lost in her thoughts and maybe for once, there were lovely things for her to think about. The easy smile and the rosiness in her cheeks were certainly rather good signs of her disposition which Dot appreciated. It was not pleasant seeing her mistress so unhappy and Dot would show gratitude where it was due, which was with the new man in her life. She still didn’t know who Jonathon Lofthouse was other than he was an old friend from Phryne’s time in London, but she’d seen the changes he affected in her. If his staying in the house as a guest would help along get Phryne back to her normal self then Dot wouldn’t mind one jot.

“Oh, I just thought I’d unpack your things so we can put have them taken for a wash tomorrow,” she thought on her feet quickly. “Perhaps Mr. Lofthouse’s as well?”

“That would be lovely, thank you,” Phryne hummed, flashing her a smile before turning back and returning to a more comfortable position in her tub. “I’m sure he would appreciate it. As much baggage as that man has, I don’t think he quite has enough clothes with him. We’ll have to visit some shops!”

“I’m sure you can recommend a few places,” she tried not to imagine the poor man being dragged into the House of Fleuri and briefly wondered if they worked with men. But then even if they didn’t, she was sure they would make an exception for Phryne, one of their most valued and lucrative customers.

“I’m sure I can!” came the answering reply. “Oh…this is so lovely. I might fall asleep here.”

“Try not to fall in, Miss,” the younger woman teased.

“I shall do my level best, Dot dear.”

Dot smiled and busied herself around the room, working quietly as she unpacked the small traveling case Phryne was able to take with her for her trip. Once she had those clothes as well as the ones that had just been taken off, she quietly exited the room with an armful of garments for washing. Left alone, Phryne allowed herself to sink deeper into the water, submerging herself completely and only reemerging once the need for oxygen became apparent. She broke through the surface, letting out a silly bark of laughter as the water sloshed around her.

She stayed in the bath for a while longer before reluctantly getting out, keeping in mind her guest and what she was sure would be a wonderful welcome home dinner prepared by Mr. Butler. Phryne didn’t wait for Dot, taking herself out of the tub easily and leaving it to drain. She dug her wet feet into the plush carpet underneath as she stood naked and dripping, grabbing her towel from the cushioned stool next to the tub and wrapped herself in the soft fabric. She began to dry herself off, running her pale fingers through her dark locks. 

The room was cool enough with the windows left open to the night’s air and it quickly chased away the warmth from the bath water. She didn’t linger, drying off and getting dressed quickly and sat in front of her dressing table. Phryne looked closely at her reflection, noticing the absence of the shadows around her eyes and she no longer wore the pained expression she had become accustomed to seeing on her face. She looked healthier, happier and even a little younger with a slight plump around her cheeks. There was still pain lingering in her blue eyes but it wasn’t quite as raw as before, something Jonathon had seen to during their time away.

As much as she hated to admit that being with him was proving to be a tonic for her both mentally and emotionally, she also had to admit that since the plane landed only hours ago, she was slowly feeling the heaviness creep back into her chest. It was as if the closer she came to the source of her grief, the harder it was to ignore his voice in her head and banish the memories she would rather not constantly return to.

That was exactly what she had sought out to do, ignore all unpleasant thoughts from the last few months. She had learned to think of her mind as a series of rooms, each one holding its own thoughts and its own memories and she had simply shut tight the door on the one which held one particular person. Out there in the open air and in new unexplored lands, it had been easy, she could pretend she wasn’t someone with a heart in desperate need of repair. 

Back home, amongst family and the familiar, it was beginning to prove difficult and she had only been home for a few hours and she hadn’t even seen anyone outside of her household. No one had even mentioned his name or anywhere close—Dot had seen to this talking about her sister’s recent tragedy—and yet she was already finding it a little hard to breathe. The urge to flee once more was beginning to return, the soles of her feet practically tingling.

Shaking her head, Phryne quickly put on a light shade of lipstick and a layer of powder. She quickly got up, throwing open her bedroom door and peeked into the hallway. She listened, waiting for a hint of a sound and immediately found what she was looking for. Bless Mr. Butler for putting her guest across from her, she thought as she easily crossed the hallway and knocked, barely giving the man time to decide in allowing her entry before throwing his door open as well. She caught him just as he was slipping on a white button-down shirt, fresh from a bath himself as he wore a surprised look on his face mixed with some curiosity.

“Everything alright, love?”

She gave him an inviting smile, closing the door behind her quietly and turned the lock.

o0o

Prudence Stanley was fit to be tied.

A whole week. Her niece had taken off without word for a whole week after simply writing checks to clear off four projects they were supposed to raise funds for and disappeared into the country with nary a how do you do. Foolishly, she took her blasted yellow plane and one of the most sought after bachelors in both sides of the isle and disappeared. Oh, it was too much to bear for thought. For one blooming minute, Prudence had been sure her niece had finally seen the light and learned her place in society, understood the vital role she played and accepted it. But no, the troublesome little girl from Collingwood who enjoyed picking fights with boys and men was still very much there, lurking under the surface. The little piece of trouble had reared its ugly head and left Prudence holding the bag to grin and bear it through.

“Do hurry up,” she snapped irritably at her driver who immediately obeyed the barking order. She glared out the windows, noting the familiar rows of houses that signaled their proximity to that house in the corner at St. Kilda. She had precious words prepared for the girl, ones she would absolutely make sure she heard.

She wasn’t even upset, not truly so, but she felt obligated to make sure Phryne would understand what she had done wrong and how she should have handled the situation instead. This was not unfamiliar territory and was, in fact, the whole sum of their relationship. Even as a young girl Phryne was already a firebrand, a trait Prudence regretfully recognized as something she had inherited from her wretched father. 

It galled her to think such a lovely young girl growing up to be the male version of Henry Fisher so Prudence made it her mission to steer the girl in the proper direction. Heavens knew her own mother would not find the initiative to do so, far too absorbed in her affection for the wretch she married and so finding little fault in the girl so molded after him. Prudence liked to think she had succeeded in some aspects, having helped fund the girl’s education prior to the inheritance of her father’s peerage and as well as handling her with a firm hand whenever necessary.

Phryne had, in fact, grown into a lovely young woman—beautiful, graceful and maybe a little too intelligent for her own good. She was still the same spitfire she always was but with some discipline and certainly better manners. She far surpassed Prudence’s grim expectations and, in this respect, she was more than happy to be proven wrong. Not that it hadn’t taken a lot of work, looking back on the whole. Phryne was never stupid but she was also had an unfortunate taste for trouble, yet another trait she inherited from her father which often led to unfortunate incidents. The damning decision to go to war at the age of sixteen was just one of many and, at the time, Prudence had been sure she would never see the dear girl again.

It had broken her heart, though she would never say so, to think she had lost her last surviving niece. Losing Janey had been devastating and possibly having lost Phryne as well had been unbearable. Prudence hadn’t been blessed with daughters of her own and she had lived vicariously through her sister and her lovely girls. Janey had been so sweet, with those soft flowing blonde locks and the familiar blue eyes from their mother and Phryne had been the stark contrast with her hair as dark as raven’s wings and that fierce unyielding personality.

Prudence especially loved Christmas during the years the Fishers were able to come over and she had enjoyed having dresses made for the girls, buying white stockings and procuring lovely shiny Mary Janes. The girls always worked hard to keep the dresses clean, knowing how special they were. Phryne, of course, had a harder time of it than Janey as she could never resist getting into all sorts of mischief with her cousin Guy. Still, those memories were special to Prudence, seeing the girls she thought of as her own being home for the holidays. There were still times she regretted the bitter years when she was forced to rescind the invitation, mistakenly thinking tough love would stop her sister, Margaret, from allowing her foolish husband to continue dragging her down with his messes. It never worked, of course, and the most to suffer were the girls.

They would never say, not even Phryne, just how badly things could get at home but she’d seen for herself. Henry Fisher was not a good husband and even less of a father. How someone as generous and kind as Phryne could come out of such a man, Prudence would never understand. She liked to think the girl came into the world entirely as herself, flaws and all and in the many ways she was magnificent, was all her doing and due to no one else.

Prudence was proud of Phryne, of having been stronger than her mother and even for her unfailing will that even she herself felt she could not match. She was fiercely independent and so incredibly resilient, sometimes it worried the old matron that maybe the girl had too much of those things. Prudence wanted nothing more than to make sure Phryne would have someone in her life, not so she would be taken care of—surely she could manage that all on her own—but she wanted stability for the girl and to see that it was possible to love one person and know how that felt like. Prudence had been tremendously blessed to have had her husband, Edward, in her life and she wanted nothing less of that for her niece. For all that she was, for her greatness and her brilliance, Phryne deserved that undying kind of love, kindness and companionship.

But that would simply be unattainable if she kept up her shenanigans, the aging widow thought darkly. She was fond of the girl and felt deep affection for her but nobody could ever quite scandalize and horrify her like Phryne could. She was sure this was a lifelong goal for the errant heiress too, knowing how easily she could get under Prudence’s skin and how much it amused her to do so. Still, she perhaps would never understand why it was so easy for her aunt to find her so incredibly vexing at times. Prudence cared, plain and simple. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t bother with her, wouldn’t care if she brought the wrong attention to herself or did things that made people think ill of her. 

She simply would not stand for it, having someone have a go at her niece in any shape or form. So she was careful of her, imparting the many, many lessons she could and still to this day, continue to guide the girl in the proper path. Phryne had no one looking after her and Prudence felt responsible for her, as she always had and now that she felt she was close to reaching the twilight of her lifetime, she wanted nothing more than to see Phryne settled, happy and secure. The girl had been surviving alone for too long, it saddened Prudence greatly thinking she would leave this world not knowing her fate.

The car stopped at the beautiful red and white house and she waited patiently for her driver to open her door. She had just come from a rather enthusiastic board meeting at St. Jude’s Hospital where the board happily presented her with the finished proposal of a new wing which was being funded by one of the checks issued earlier in the week. Prudence had no problem with charity and in fact, advocated for it greatly, but she had a problem with how Phryne had handled the situation. She couldn’t just write checks off to shortcut her way through the whole matter. What of the other projects? Would she just continue to give her money away? Prudence wanted to have a stern conversation about it with her niece and having been kindly informed by Mr. Butler of her arrival, she wasted no time chasing after the young woman.

She noted the black cab parked out front, recognizing it to be the one those two gentlemen Phryne liked to employ now and then. Well, they might have an audience after all but Prudence would not let that stop her. She pursed her lips, securing her fox-fur coat around her and headed up to the house. Ever the prescient one, Mr. Butler was at the door before she could get to it, welcoming her into the home with a smile and a respectful greeting.

“Good evening, Mrs. Stanley,” Mr. Butler said with a slight bow. “How lovely to see you this evening.”

She gave him a grim look, “Lovely to see you as well, Mr. Butler. Has my errant niece made it home yet?” 

“Indeed she has and you’ve arrived just in time for dinner,” he answered kindly. “We’ve prepared a small feast as a small homecoming celebration.”

Prudence felt herself balk at that, “Oh, er, well…”

“We would love to have you join us, of course,” he smiled. “I’m sure Miss Fisher will be delighted.”

She looked skeptical at that, “I highly—”

“Aunt Prudence! How wonderful to see you!”

The older woman’s head shot up, catching sight of the young woman as she practically bounced her way down the steps. She was beautifully clad in a blue dress with the shoes to match and she looked positively glowing, beaming happily when she arrived at the bottom and promptly planted a kiss on her aunt’s cheek. Prudence almost stammered, surprised by such a warm and enthusiastic greeting.

“Oh, well, hello dear girl,” she said, swallowing her the ire that was quickly evaporating. “How lovely you look.”

“Thank you, Aunt P,” Phryne smiled warmly, looping her arm with hers and guided her towards the front parlour. “As do you. That is a splendid frock!”

Prudence couldn’t help but preen, “Your Madame Fleuri has been most solicitous.”

“Wonderful!” she returned happily before turning her attention to her butler. “We’re just waiting for our guest then we can proceed to dinner, Mr. B!”

“Excellent, Miss—that leaves us time to prepare one more place for dinner,” the man answered, giving Prudence a warm smile then exited, leaving the women to sit in the front parlour together.

Phryne smiled, sitting across from her aunt by the unlit fireplace, “I’m sorry I had to leave without saying a proper goodbye, Aunt P. Our trip was rather sudden, to be quite honest.”

She looked at the girl closely, seeing genuine remorse in her bright blue eyes. Whatever little of her ire that was left had dissolved immediately then, “Quite alright, dear girl. What, may I ask, precipitated this? You just seemed to disappear! Did something happen?”

Prudence thought back to that time, months ago, when she’d been so horrendously upset with Phryne only to find out the girl had been ill. What had that been? A nosebleed. It sounded like a rather messy affair and she had worried but her niece had been very assuring that it was nothing to concern herself with. She watched her closely for some time after that and didn’t find anything worrisome so she let it go. If it turned out to be something more, she would probably feel rather awful for not pushing for her to go to the doctor for a proper medical screen.

“Nothing to alarm yourself with,” she answered easily. “I know I made a rather poor showing flying off like I did, but I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

Prudence gave her a stern look, “I do have my Gratitude Patrons dinner…”

“Gratitude Patrons…?” she curiously tilted her head to the side. 

“A dinner I put together for the Gratitude Girls—you remember Joan? She’s one of them,” her aunt offered by way of explanation. “I’m hoping the event will encourage more people in opening their businesses so we’ll have more suitable placements for them to work.”

“How…interesting,” Phryne said, the corners of her mouth curling up. “Though this explains Joan. She is a lovely girl…if not a little clumsy. Have you had her eyes checked as I suggested?”

“We’re planning to do so after the dinner,” Prudence answered. “I do hope her eyes aren’t continuing to get worst…poor girl might end up blind.”

“Best have a doctor make sure,” she responded solemnly. “The sooner we know, the better.”

“Of course,” her aunt agreed readily. “How is Jonathon, dear? I hear he took the trip with you.”

Phryne immediately picked up on the warning tone that told her to tread lightly, “He’s splendid. We’ve been…reacquainting. He’s been quite lovely.”

Her aunt’s eyebrows shot up, “You don’t say.”

“In fact,” Phryne began, taking a deep breath before smiling widely. “He’s had to let go of his rooms at The Windsor so I’ve decided to have him here, as my guest.”

Her aunt could barely contain herself from shooting up from her seat, “Oh, Phryne!”

“It’s perfectly alright, Aunt P,” she said calmly, hoping to keep the older woman in the same state. “He’s staying in one of my guest rooms. We’ll have the household here and Jane this weekend. It’s all perfectly above board.”

She gave her a somewhat grim but knowing look, “While that may seem the case from the outside, can you say the same in these walls?” 

“He’s a perfect gentleman,” Phryne sighed though she couldn’t help the small smile that curled the corners of her lips. “I’m sure you remember.”

The corners of old matron’s eyes were pinched with concern, “Phryne, dear…”

“It’s alright, Aunt P,” she said, patting her arm gently. “He’s been very kind to me…something I didn’t realize I needed and we’ve been having such a wonderful time together.”

Prudence stopped, looking at the younger woman closely and noticed something in her eyes she has not quite seen in such a long time. There was a certain calmness there while also a soft glow, a softness she wouldn’t normally associate with the indomitable beauty. It took her a moment to understand what she was seeing but when she finally realized, she could see it exactly for what it was—Phryne was at peace.

It had been such a long time, so long since Janey’s disappearance, that she’d never quite seen the girl so free of troubles. It had been a rather tumultuous life for someone so young, even after coming into wealth and it surprised Prudence beyond measure. Her heart began to race and the thoughts began to run amok in her mind. Surely, this was something entirely unexpected but not completely unwelcome. For a while, she thought she saw something like a connection between her and a certain man of the law but she hadn’t seen the fellow for a while. Certainly, Jonathon Lofthouse was not even attempting to conceal his adoration of her niece and if Prudence had to be honest, he would surely make a more suitable match. Now, if she could only be sure—

“I would hate to leave him in a lurch,” Phryne was saying, obviously working hard not to incur her aunt’s legendary wrath while she explained her situation. “My household is familiar with him and he’s comfortable being here…I didn’t see any reason why he shouldn’t be welcome in my home.”

“But Phryne, dear…it isn’t seemly, having a bachelor in your home while you are also unattached,” Prudence still felt the responsibility of guiding the girl though, no matter the positive changes it seemed to bring within her.

“As opposed to a married woman taking in a single man…?” Phryne asked, curious then smiled when she saw the furrow on her aunt’s brow. “I’m just teasing, Aunt P, but really—out of all the outrageous things this town has witnessed me doing, surely providing shelter for a transplant would be a little low on the ranks of the scandalous?”

Prudence sighed, “Well, when you put it that way…” She shook her head, “You are too clever, girl. But do be careful, do you hear me? Jonathon comes from a good family and his parents were good friends of ours.”

“Of course,” Phryne smiled indulgently. “I remember. Now, you will join us for dinner, won’t you? Everyone is here—Cec, Bert, Dot and Mr. B. How I wish Jane was home sooner, but we’ll just have another dinner when she comes home as well! You can join us then too!”

She smiled warmly at her, “That sounds lovely, dear girl.”

Phryne smiled, “So…how are things? I believe you were at St. Jude’s tonight…”

“They received your generous donation,” Prudence said, pursing her lips. “Phryne, I know you meant well but you can’t be throwing money around that way.”

“Why not? It’s for a good cause and it wasn’t all my money,” she shrugged, unaffected by the whole of it. “I pooled those funds from donations—some from Jonathon, some from Lofty, the Waddingtons and the Spencers who sent quite a generous endowment.”

“The Spencers?”

“Oh, Lord and Lady Spencer,” Phryne replied. “I telegrammed Lofty and he contacted a few friends. Remember Lucille-Anne Boynton? She was an old friend from school and she married the Spencer’s only son.”

“Wh-uh, you were reaching out to contacts in England?” Prudence’s eyebrows were up to her hairline.

“Hmm…well, with the amount of projects we have planned out for the year, I thought it wise we shouldn’t saturate the potential patrons here so quickly,” she said as if it was the most obvious thing. “And dear Lucy is so lovely—she offered without even asking Lofty what it was for.”

“I shall write to them promptly,” Prudence said, trying to suppress her awe. “You’ve come through yet again, my girl. What a force you have turned into.”

“Glad to be of service,” Phryne smiled serenely. “Lofty’s more than happy to lend a hand. He’s relieved to find out his brother has gotten out of the wilds for the moment and settled somewhere for more than two weeks.”

“He does an awful lot of traveling,” her aunt agreed. “But he’s done well for himself with those mines and metals. I hear he’s being considered for a government contract under the endorsement of the Prime Minister himself.”

“All Lofty’s grand plan to keep Jonathon in one place, I’m afraid,” Phryne returned. “Seems he’s decided he prefers his brother here if he refuses to return home.”

“It would certainly seem safer to have him here than out there in the wilds,” Prudence frowned. “Has he decided to settle here in Australia?”

“Not that he’s mentioned,” Phryne shrugged, seemingly unbothered either way. “Lofty misses him dearly.”

“Those two have always been close,” her aunt nodded. “It wasn’t easy losing their mother so soon—especially for Jonathon as he was so young. She adored him endlessly, she was so sure he would turn into something great.”

“And he has,” Phryne answered, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “So, rest assured, Aunt P. I’m not driving myself straight into the poorhouse giving all my money away.”

“I should have known better,” the older woman smiled. “I never really have to worry about you, do I?”

“No, not at all,” she responded, her heart warming at the recognition. “I may get into scrapes now and then, but I always get myself out of them. I can take care of myself.”

“Still,” she looked uncomfortable discussing the matter. “You need to…Phryne, you can’t keep expecting to get out of those scrapes unscathed as you have so far. Luck runs out, even yours.”

“I know, but you’ve been keeping me so very busy, I really haven’t had time to get into any such scrapes, haven’t I?” she said with a knowing look.

Prudence refused to get caught and she wouldn’t surrender, “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re referring to.”

“It’s perfectly fine, Aunt P,” Phryne smiled indulgently. “I understand. These past few months have been eye-opening, I appreciate you including me in your endeavors.”

Her aunt paused then reached out, placing her hand on her cheek gently. “You are a dear, dear, girl.”

Phryne’s eyes lit up and a beautiful smile spread on her face as she leaned in to the maternal touch. She felt warmth bloom inside of her, feeling the genuine affection and acceptance coming from a woman who made sure they were hard won. She had been living like an orphan for so long, never quite finding a home until she came back to her home country, and to have the closest person as her maternal figure giving her such validation, it lightened her soul and convinced her all the work she had put in in the last few months had been worth this.

“It’s good to have you home,” Prudence said, brushing her hand over Phryne’s hair before pulling back. “You have been missed. I believe Mr. Burn has been feeling quite blue without having you to chase around.”

A raucous laugh emerged from the raven-haired beauty, “Oh, I’m sure! If I didn’t have better angels on my side, I bet he would have been right at the airfield awaiting my return!”

The two women shared a laugh just as the evening’s guest walked through the doors of the front parlour. Jonathon Lofthouse smiled at the sight that greeted him, standing there dressed in a dark suit jacket, his hands tucked into his pockets. He leaned against the doorframe, not wanting to intrude and instead, soaked in the sight of a happy Phryne sharing a moment with her beloved aunt. He was the picture of easy calm and a poise despite the thoughts that were running about a mile a minute in the back of his mind. 

He had been left thinking deeply once he found himself alone in the guest room after she slipped out, finding himself coming to a decision before he could allow himself to think twice about it and change his mind. No time like the present, he thought, feeling buoyant after being in the presence of someone so full of life and beauty. She was euphoric and being in her light was nothing short of intoxicating, something he forgot but now found himself remembering so easily. He would drown in her, if she let him.

Feeling resolute, inside the left pocket of his finely cut trousers, his fingers curled around a small dark box.


	10. Chapter 10

Things never seem to go as planned for him these days.

His last conversation with Rosie stayed with him and didn’t stray far from his consciousness the following Tuesday when he encountered yet again dear Dot at the precinct. Unsurprisingly, she came armed with a basket for Hugh who happily indulged while she chattered away about the happy news that her mistress had finally come home. Jack had not meant to eavesdrop—not really—but he had been on his way back to his office after returning from the records room when he overheard her mention Phryne’s name and how she had swept back into town late Monday afternoon. Naturally, his ears perked up at the sound of her name and he didn’t have much control afterwards.

Jack slipped quietly through his door, making sure the lovers wouldn’t notice him and shut it tightly. It was unnerving how even just the passing mention of her name made his heart beat a little faster. He couldn’t understand exactly why that was but it was there, the undeniable quickening. Like the intervention from his former wife, Phryne lingered in the corners of his mind, never straying far and looming over him like a presence he could not banish. Not that he was actively trying to nor did he truly want to. 

Unlike before, once he was able to confront why he acted the way he did—no small thanks once more to Rosie—he found he no longer had adverse reactions when Phryne would enter his thoughts. He still felt terrible, still felt the guilt that came with how he treated her, but there was a certain lightness that came with thoughts of her now. Even then, with so much still unresolved between them, he found himself thinking fondly of her and the times they spent together both on cases and on those lovely nights they spent in her parlour. He had to try very hard now to remember why he was so insistent on disassociating himself with her and a part of him damned himself for even considering it to begin with. He was a fool, a miserable little fool, for hurting someone who meant so much to him.

So he resolved to go to her, to break through whatever barrier that may come his way and find some way to make her listen and understand how sorry he was and maybe also tell her how much he felt for her. He felt little anxiety at the thought of being in the same room as her, fearing only rejection before he could tell her the things that he wanted to but he hoped better angels would guide him. If he ever needed divine intervention, it would be now.

And intervention came, but in an entirely different manner and not at all in his favor.

Jack planned to make his way to Wardlow that coming Friday but before the day could even come, a case fell into his lap and it wasn’t his every day run of the mill kind. Radio stations were being terrorized across the country, the last attacks having occurred in Sydney where the place had been set alight and killed one person in the fire. The Chief Commissioner himself chose him for the undercover mission to pose as an aspiring radio personality by the name of Archibald Jones. Astute as he was, Jack understood this was his superior’s way of letting him know he still had faith in his work, despite the recent setback, so he knew well enough to not risk offending the man and took the job with great unexpressed reluctance.

He easily slipped into his role, a callback to his work during the war under the intelligence branch, and what he had been hoping would be a quick finish to his case turned into more than a week’s worth of work. He worked at the radio station as a different kind if everyday man, sussing out the players and the possibility of an attack. It was tedious work, being in radio and Jack had never been more thankful for his work as a detective inspector. He moved quickly and efficiently, analyzing each possible clue that he came by, assessing the individuals he came across at every turn. He worked diligently to close the case, not just to prevent further damage and death, but because he also could not wait to get back to his own life. 

Jack needed to return, needed so much to get back what he had lost and a part of him could not help resent the forced isolation from his intentions. Why now when he had finally woken up? Why now when he had finally found the resolve to accept Phryne’s presence and meaning in his life? It was so incredibly miserable and dull and lifeless without her and now that he was wholeheartedly ready to embrace his obvious need to have her by his side, he was being kept away from her by one thing or another. It felt like a terrible, cruel joke as if the gods themselves were conspiring to keep him away from her now that he realized what a horrible fool he had been. Some part of him felt like he was being punished, being given his own trials to earn his way back into the possibility of being welcomed back into her graces.

Dressed in appallingly garish sweaters and tan suits, Jack delved into the world of Archie Jones, all the while keeping his focus on the objectives of his mission while a certain raven-haired detective lingered in the corners of his mind. Now that he had opened the door to her and what possibilities lay in front of him should she grant him the chance, he could not stop thinking about her any longer. She was never far from his mind, always there, like a gentle thought keeping him tethered to life itself. Often, he found himself thinking how much fun she would have had working on a case like this, probably mercilessly teasing him while he kept up the act and she flittered about, maybe even going undercover herself or just simply insert herself into the investigation somehow.

Thinking that way about her found she no longer conjured about a black mood and even brought smiles onto his face he could not seem to control. The people working at the radio station seemed to notice too, commenting on what they assumed was a faraway love and he had to immediately come up with a cover story about a sweetheart back home he was planning to marry once he had enough money saved up for a good life together. They seemed to buy it and sure enough, the story of Archie’s sweet darling Fern became one of his more ironclad talking points when trying to extract information from the unknowing bunch. People seemed to respond better to subtle questioning when fed personal facts from their unknown interrogator, something that easily came to him whenever he would bring up his fictional darling girl who was waiting faithfully for him.

If now and then the stories seem reminiscent of a beautiful maven from St. Kilda, Jack didn’t let himself linger too much on that. The best way to stick to a good cover was to lie as little as possible, after all. And he certainly had ready facts about Fern to make his stories seem genuine enough. He laughed easier and engaged more readily when he could find his way into people’s heads and a man in love seemed to be the perfect tool on this assignment.

Jack ended up playing the role of Archie for over a week, the case seemingly tepid at first until it culminated in an ambush that ended with a murder, attempted arson, another attempted murder and a poisoning of a poor little fish. It turned out it had nothing to do with terrorizing a radio station but rather a bitter man who claimed to love yet seemed driven to kill by it. A talented young woman died trying to solve the crime, something Jack carried heavily with him. A thorough review of the mission cleared him when it was proven there was nothing that could have been done to prevent the murder when the whole case had been led astray by a madman hellbent on punishing women for daring to live without him and his oppression.

It was a warped kind of love, something that disgusted Jack and made him feel terribly awful for the woman Jimmy Creswick married and tried to murder. How does one live after finding out someone who claimed to love and care for you saw fit to destroy you in the end? It sent ice running through Jack’s veins and he felt the awful grief and devastation of the poor and ailing victimized Mrs. Hazel Creswick. It touched something inside of him that told him he wouldn’t be forgetting this particular case for a while yet.

But Jack had to move on, leave Archie and his sweetheart Fern behind and pursue his own intentions. Once he wrapped up his case with the review board and was permitted back to his station and return to his command, he went straight into his office to see what had become of his space while he was away. This was something he immediately regretted, finding that the person that had been left temporarily in his place for the duration of his absence, did not see fit to cover the duties that came with the job. A substantial pile of paperwork lay waiting for him as a sad little welcome home and Jack found himself so incredibly infuriated by the inconvenience, he left a scathing indictment on the fool’s superior and demanded a written explanation for the lack of sense of responsibility to duty and a reprimand for his neglect and perceived incompetence.

Truthfully, had it been any other time, he could have let it go easily. Temporary placements didn’t feel the need to honor tasks their actual counterparts would have simply because they knew the job to be exactly that—temporary—so they felt there would be little reason to put effort into such a fleeting and thankless position. But Jack Robinson was a man on a mission and being impeded in any way shape or form was essentially a crime against what he sought to accomplish.

So, unhappily he planted himself onto his desk, working well into the night right after his return to his position to clear the paperwork that needed the commanding officer’s attention. He went home late and then arrived the following morning early, locking himself once more inside his own office and continued the task. Over a week’s worth of paperwork from his men in the precinct was a lot to clear up and Jack kept himself motivated by reminding himself the sooner he would be able to clear out the lot on his desk, the sooner he would be free to finally make his way to the beautiful red and white house on St. Kilda. Should he be given a chance to redeem himself, Jack knew he was ready to finally learn to be a little selfish and pursue his own truthful desires for what feels like the first time in a very long time from a life led by serving others and putting other people’s needs and desires ahead of his.

For once, he would not let duty and responsibility dictate him. He would pursue what he knew would simply make him happy and maybe try and make someone else feel the same amount of elation as well. It was a different kind of life but certainly one he would like to experience. The war had come between his first marriage, scarcely giving him the chance to understand how it is to truly be someone’s partner in life and now that the possibility of another opportunity to get it right seemed close at hand, Jack was ready to take the plunge and see where it would take him. The mere thought that it might be with Phryne made his heart practically shatter through his breastbone and brought warmth into his soul.

If it wasn’t so utterly embarrassing even in his own mind, Jack could almost admit the very thought left him giddy.

o0o

The stone seemed to glow from within.

Phryne held her hand up against the light, allowing the precious gem to catch the morning rays through her bedroom window. Her face was free of makeup, cheeks pale from having just woken from a deep restful sleep. She had forgotten to take off the ring the night before and felt the weight of it upon waking. The emerald was impressive and eternally flawless, cut to precision in the current art deco style that was currently sweeping the age. The diamonds sparkled against the dark stone, seeming to gleam beautifully against the gold setting.

Simply put, it was one of the most gorgeous pieces of jewelry she had ever been presented with.

The expected panic didn’t come, the urge to flee from such a situation she had been actively avoiding the moment she came of age barely making a ripple in her mind. She couldn’t say she was overjoyed but she wasn’t unhappy either. If she were insisted upon to express the very first feeling that came the moment the piece of jewelry was revealed to her, she would have to say she was stunned. If she was confused, she didn’t feel it yet though she didn’t exactly have a concrete answer at the same time.

Jonathon had been so quietly calm and confident, taking her hand in his as he led her up to the very top to the roof of her home four days after their arrival from their trip. He leaned against the side, keeping his back on the view of the horizon while she delightfully hung herself about, enjoying the cool night breeze under the innumerable stars. She had been wondering out loud why she didn’t visit the roof as much where it was so marvelous when he gained her attention, slipping his other hand in his pocket while taking her hand in his once more.

It had been so simple, so heartfelt as he softly explained how he managed to come across his very first emerald in an abandoned old mine. He hadn’t known yet what he would do with his life, simply exploring as he travelled and somehow stumbled upon a piece of what he thought were just interesting looking rocks. Jonathon hadn’t known what to do with it at first but he kept it until eventually he found a place that could cut and polish the material to brilliance. He hadn’t expected much to come of it until he found out that within the clusters of geodes was a piece of stunning lustrous green emerald.

He liked to think that piece of gem had been what led him down the road he found himself taking. The journey has taken him to some of the greatest adventures of his lifetime and Jonathon couldn’t be prouder or happier. He had never known what to do with the piece of precious stone, keeping it close always and safely tucked away. The brilliant gem had been in his pocket so long, it had become some sort of talisman to remind himself of how he got to where he was and where else it might take him. Jonathon hadn’t had any plans with it, not until he arrived in Australia and then he finally understood why he never quite knew what to do with it until the proper time came.

It had seemed so wondrous when the answer he wasn’t even looking for suddenly came and it took only a morning for him to find himself with the most sought after jeweler this side of the colonies in Sydney. Thanks to his brother’s known peerage and the family’s standing in British aristocracy, there had been little to no questions about his admittance and having services be available for him in such short notice. 

He flew in to Sydney for a day, worked with a talented craftsman and helped sketch the piece of jewelry he had in mind. More than anything, he wanted his treasured gem to be the heart and have the rest be built around the stunning piece. He had also taken a family heirloom from his mother that had been willed to him—a simple thick gold Edwardian ring with cut diamonds that caught the light like stars in the night sky. He had the gold of the ring melted down and the diamonds extracted to have the metal and the stones remade to complete the new ring and turn his design into reality. The square cut lustrous emerald sat nestled surrounded by the smaller cut crystals; the gold band paved with the rest of the smaller stones that left the piece sparkling in the light.

Jonathon would openly admit he liked to live his life without a plan, letting his destiny shape him and take him where it so desired. But he wasn’t blind to what shaped him, to the moments that made him as he was and he had always known Phryne had been more important than he ever truly acknowledged not because he didn’t want to but because he never thought he would have the chance to. It had been a good life, traveling from place to place, living his life like a vagabond but finding her once more, being in her presence—Jonathon felt at peace all at once and the urge to wander slowly faded away. She anchored him and soothed him and he hoped he could do the same for her, that their souls would once more find a gentle haven in each other.

Phryne couldn’t do anything but listen, too stunned to speak as he poured his heart out to her.

Jonathon produced the ring, choosing to place it on the palm of her hand. He was no stranger to her aversion to permanence, something she had always been vocal about even as a young girl. He wanted to give her a choice, to make her understand that he had no expectations and simply wanted to give her something that meant so much to him. It wasn’t a proposal of marriage nor was it a declaration of a relationship, but simply a promise. More than anything he wanted her to know as long as he roamed the planes of the earth, Phryne would never be alone and would never have to wonder if she was loved.

If in the future she decided she wanted to be with him, Jonathon would be there but if she chose to keep things as they were at the moment—two people sharing their lives as good friends—then he would accept that and no more ask of her. He only wanted to offer her a piece of him, of his legacy, and give her some tangible proof of his devotion and friendship.

He didn’t wait to see if she would put it on and instead, folded her fingers around the jewel and held her close, pressing his lips into her hair. He thanked her quietly and apologized if he scared her, knowing how the idea of being shackled to someone with no means of escape scared her. He was quick to reassure her, telling her he was not asking for anything in return but her continued kindness.

Phryne allowed her to hold him, leaning into his touch and accepted the love and warmth and gentleness he so easily gave. She slipped her arms around him, her fingers still curled tightly around the gift and they held each other, holding on to one another as the stars looked down upon them and bore witness to his unabashed declaration.

She didn’t wear the ring, not immediately but she kept it in her pockets much as he did when the gem had still been this raw uncut piece of beauty. It took a whole week before she considered it, gingerly slipping the gold metal around her middle finger on her left hand, feeling the weight of it settle against her skin. Somehow, she wasn’t surprised it fit her perfectly and she waited for the panic to set in, for the instinct to flee to take over but it never came. She went to dinner that night with Jonathon, not missing how his eyes softened when he saw the bauble adorning her hand. Phryne simply gave him a smile and kissed him gently on the corner of his mouth.

They didn’t spend the night together but he bade her a gentle goodnight, accepting her kiss and holding her close before reluctantly letting go. She resisted the urge to pull him back to her, to hang on to him and take him into her boudoir but she knew that had not been the night for it. It had been easier in the previous weeks, taking him into her bed but after he had poured his heart out to her, she didn’t want to be thought of as carelessly playing with him. She wanted some time to understand what she wanted, to see past the emotions she had been working through and understand exactly what she able to give him.

Jonathon didn’t push, didn’t pressure her into anything else, quietly understanding how he risked overwhelming her with his own declarations so he was prepared to give her time. They still spent time together, still went about town as they would but she was noticeably different with him, still warm but somehow more careful. She needed to process what he had presented her with, what it meant for the two of them and how it could potentially change things even when he hadn’t meant them to. He was prepared to give her all the time in the world and would happily stay by her side as long as she would have him.

So Phryne sent him off with a kiss and he gave her a small smile, walking away with a shake of his head and slipped into his own bedroom across the hall. She was left on her own that night, smiling softly to herself and tried to ignore the way her lips felt as if they were tingling from his kiss. Phryne laid awake that night, looking at the ring in her finger and tried to understand what it meant for her and the possible future that lay ahead. She fell asleep thinking about it all and wondering why she wasn’t scared at all.

“Oh, you beautiful thing,” she said out loud in the empty room, smiling as she moved her hand by a small fraction. She couldn’t help but smile as the white crystals around the glowing emerald seemed to wink at her in the sunlight.

Phryne sat in bed in contemplation, unable to tear her eyes away from the jewel that had been made especially for her. She has had pieces commissioned before but for Jonathon to have gone to the lengths he did with things he held so dear to create something so incredibly stunning that fit her so perfectly, well, it left her breathless. If she left the ring in her jewelry box, it wouldn’t even look out of place—the piece looked exactly like something she herself would have had made for her to wear. It was flattering how well he knew her, how he clearly paid attention to the things she liked and what she was comfortable with. She had never felt so thought of, so cherished and it made her feel all sorts of wonderful things.

The door to her bedroom began to open and she immediately dropped her hand into the mattress and sat up, fixing a serene smile on her face. Dot came in with a smile of her own, carrying a large package with the distinctive design of the House of Fleuri.

“Good morning, Miss!” 

Phryne beamed, “Good morning, dear Dot! Is that for me?”

“Oh, yes. Your dress for your aunt’s Gratitude Patrons dinner arrived early this morning,” she settled the package at the foot of the bed. “Would you like to see it now or…?”

“Maybe later,” she answered with a slight shrug, ruffling her hair lightly to remove the flattened state it had been in sleep. “Our last fitting went so splendidly. I have absolute faith this one will be just perfect…like all of the works of the Fleuri sisters, of course.”

“I’ll just put this aside then,” the younger woman offered and moved towards the basin on the other side of the room to make sure there was fresh water for washing. “Mr. Lofthouse stepped out early this morning. He said to let you know he’ll be back before noon and to tell you he’s sorry to miss having breakfast with you.”

“Oh, did he mention where he might’ve gone?” Phryne asked, slipping out of bed and stretching like a cat once she was on her feet. She followed to where her companion was, still clad in her short French silk white night dress.

“I believe to the airfield where he has his plane stowed,” Dot answered helpfully, retrieving her mistress’ robe for her. “He said you found him a place where you have your plane, Miss?”

“Yes, I did,” she nodded and bent down to wash her face which she did quickly. Dot waited patiently and helped her into her robe once she was done. “He paid for his Tiger Moth to be stored until the end of the week but it’s a little out of the way. Group Captain Compton kindly negotiated another place for me at that private airfield not too far from the RAAF.”

“Does he know the plane belongs to Mr. Lofthouse?” there was a tell-tale curling at the corner of her lips as she asked the question.

“Hmm…I’m not sure but that hardly matters,” Phryne shrugged, brushing her hair lightly. “I’m sure Lyle will find some way to collect one way or another. You should see that man, Dot…rakishly handsome and hungry for speed.”

Dot felt her cheeks pink slightly, “Was he the one who taught you how to fly, Miss?”

“No although he did give me some pointers on some interesting maneuvers,” Phryne smirked and motioned for her to follow her out of the room. “But he is an exceptional pilot. He saved my life in one of our missions after the war.”

“Missions? I thought you drove an ambulance…?” she seemed alarmed by the idea of her mistress doing such things but then this was a natural occurrence between the two women. Dot was sure it wouldn’t matter how many years she works for her dear miss—she’d still find a way to shock and amaze her.

“They needed certain…talents for some missions post-armistice,” she answered vaguely. “I was glad to be of service. One of our last missions together was in Madagascar.”

“How fascinating,” Dot marveled, having only read precious little about the exotic place in library books. “What adventures you’ve had, Miss! You ought to write a book one day.”

“I’m afraid some of my stories might land me in the banned books section,” she laughed lightly. “So, what are you up to tonight? Something fun, I hope?”

“They’re showing a new film tonight at the cinema…Hugh’s promised to take me.”

“Capital idea! Someone really ought to have fun tonight while Jonathon and I get roped into that Gratitude dinner,” Phryne sighed just as they reached the first floor of the house. “I must admit I have absolutely no idea what a Gratitude Patron is.”

“I think it’s something to do with young girls looking for respectable jobs,” Dot offered tentatively. “I believe Joan is one of them?”

“Oh, that part I understand…the part where you need to have a party for the patrons I don’t,” Phryne shrugged, following Dot as she led her to the dining room where her breakfast was waiting. “But I suppose I’m just not in a partying mood so maybe that’s that.”

Dot soldiered on earnestly as they progressed throughout the home, “Mrs. Stanley feels showing appreciation will encourage more participation from other patrons.”

“As if she couldn’t twist their arms into participating in the first place,” the dark-haired beauty snickered then made a face. “Oh, but Aunt Prudence does love her little get togethers…I just wish the company were better.”

“I suppose that’s also true,” she smiled a little. “You sure you don’t want me to accompany you miss? If the company seems dreary, maybe I can—”

“Oh, don’t you dare, Dot,” she tutted in return, not even letting her finish. “You and Hugh deserve a lovely night together without me getting in the way. Go on and enjoy yourselves while we make nice. We’ll be just fine.”

“If you’re sure…”

Phryne sat at the head of the table, “I believe I am.”

Just then Mr. Butler entered with some freshly brewed Greek coffee, the smell wafting deliciously through the air which immediately perked up the lady of the house considerably. Above all else, including scrumptious food, nothing could beat the dark invigorating brew. This alone would be enough to elicit pure joy out of the heiress, if the way her eyes lit up along with her happy exclamation was anything to go by.

“Mr. B, my angel incarnate!”

o0o

It was taking a lot out of him not to simply walk out and never return.

Finding himself barely able to sit still and feeling he was wasting time and losing any chance at gaining ground, Jack found himself swallowing the urge to chuck the remaining set of papers in front of him in the bin. It was a quiet Tuesday that was slowly making its way to the dark but he still had himself facing a considerably tall pile to the right of his desk. There was no way he would be able to finish this tonight, he concluded darkly which did nothing to improve his mood. His hand was threatening to cramp and his eyes were growing heavier with each hour that passed. Briefly, he wondered how his men could come up with so much paperwork in the week he had been missing from his desk. It was all rather absurd.

He really could picture it, just him driving up to Wardlow like he used to months ago. It had been so simple then, so much easier, just coming there for a night cap, share a drink or two and enjoy being in her company. Jack wondered when he had changed so much, when did he suddenly forget how to simply be? He was a free man, divorced and free of any responsibility. Why did he think it was such a herculean hurdle, being with her? He sees people do it all the time, finding other people, spending time together and deciding to actually be together. Even Hugh managed to do this and with seeming relative ease. Why couldn’t Jack do the same after the divorce? Even Rosie had no trouble moving on, engaged before they even reached a year after the dissolution of their doomed marriage. It seemed so silly now, remembering his decision to discontinue his friendship with her when everyone else seemed to have no trouble being with the people they wanted to be with.

Jack sighed, pushing his paperwork back and stood up. He grabbed his cup from the edge of his desk, intending to find himself some coffee. He could not seem to stop the stream of consciousness that kept flowing, as if his mind was intent on keeping him distracted in spite of his determination to finish his work. He had never had so much trouble concentrating before, not even during the war between shelling and the constant barrage of enemy fire which was ridiculous in itself, could it really be possible one raven-haired distraction could outdo the ruckus of a full-scale global war? He didn’t think so but he was living in it and he was barely able to read a paragraph without losing focus because of her so now he could honestly say, yes. Absolutely.

He couldn’t help the small smile that came across his fine features as he stepped out of his office, stopping when he almost bumped into Hugh who was also heading for his door.

“Oh, sorry. I mean, excuse me, sir!”

“Quite alright, Collins,” he held up his empty cup to show there hadn’t been any risk to the potential collision. “Heading out?”

“Yes, sir, I was just coming in to inform you,” he answered with a halting smile. “I, er, promised Dotty I’d take her out tonight to the cinema.” He seemed quite happy with this until he froze for a moment and said, “Unless you need me to stay, I—”

“No, no, go ahead,” he waved him off. “It’s pretty quiet around here. Miss Williams is free tonight?”

“Yes, sir,” Hugh pressed his hand against the front of his uniform, beaming now. “Dotty got the night off since M-Miss, uh, Fisher is going to a party and Mr. Butler is going to a card game with, er, other butlers…? I think but I could be wrong about that.”

“I can’t imagine you’d be too far off there,” Jack smiled a little. “You’re off the clock, Collins. Go on—mustn’t keep Miss Williams waiting.”

Hugh nodded eagerly, “Yes, sir. Of course. Will you be staying here?”

“Still have reports to catch up on, I’m afraid,” Jack shrugged. “I was just coming to get some coffee.”

“Oh, we have some here,” he motioned towards the pot. “I just made it this…uh, this afternoon but I can make a fresh one before—”

“No, that’ll do, Collins,” Jack waved his hand at him. “Thank you. Now you go on ahead. Have a good night. Give Miss Williams my best.”

“I will, sir! Have a good night!” the young constable nodded, giving him a respectful nod before heading out of the precinct. It wasn’t hard to notice the skip in his step, his excitement at the prospect of seeing his sweetheart very much apparent. Jack smothered a smile, looking around the empty precinct and letting out a breath before heading for the pot of brew.

Jack poured himself a cup before heading back into his office, hoping the tonic would help him concentrate better. Though he highly doubted it would do one bit of difference, he thought there was nothing wrong with hoping. Still, it didn’t help having Hugh mention the main source of his distraction being at a party somewhere in town. He tried not to think about how lovely she would look in those gowns of hers and how she would simply radiate pure joy and infectious glee whenever she was in her element. She loved dancing and being around people—not necessarily things he would seek out but with her he knew he would have no problem deviating from his usual tastes.

Upon realizing he was getting lost in thoughts of her once more, Jack groaned. He tried not to smack himself even though he was sorely tempted to—barely a foot away from his office and he was already distracted. He tried to wipe the smile from his face, marching himself back through the door and behind his desk. How could she affect him so even in the bleakest of times? The mere thought of her was enough to turn him into putty now. He really was turning into a hopeless case now that he had begun to allow himself to open up to these possibilities.

Facing the pile still waiting, it was right then Jack knew he didn’t stand a chance finishing his paperwork that night.

o0o

The dress fit her perfectly and did not disappoint.

Made with finest tulle lace and satin that left her shoulders modestly covered in sheer fabric and her arms along with the column of her back bare, the floor length sensuous black gown was paired nicely with a matching velvet cape to keep the night’s chill away. Phryne absolutely adored the frock made especially for her with excellent collaborative work by the Fleuri sisters. She was certain the new gown would easily become a favorite and would surely be worn again. The design was more daring than most though it kept her strategically and decently covered to cleverly avoid being looked upon as vulgar. The fit itself molded closer to her form than most evening gowns would, nipped at the waist with the fabric running along her curves in more defined lines before flaring into a flowing skirt.

Phryne examined her reflection, searching for anything that might be out of place or needed to be touched up. The dress would surely stand out not just for its deviation from the current trend but because it was designed to do so. For all the years she spent being invisible among her finely frocked schoolmates being the poorest girl before her family lucked into fortune, she knew some part of her was surely making up for those times as a beautiful young adult woman. As a child, it was easy to be overlooked next to her sweet, fair haired and peach skinned beautiful little sister and as a girl with barely a couple of dresses in her closet, she faded into the background among the rich girls and all their finery. 

For all the darkness it brought into her life, it had been Paris that made her see that she was truly beautiful and desirable, realizing the kind of power she could hold over men and some women and the importance of learning how to wield it. She became incredibly skilled at knowing how to dress herself, which of her assets were most alluring, how to enhance them and how even as simple as the perfect scent of a perfume placed in the most strategic parts of her body could be enough to leave a man instantly undone. Once Phryne realized she was a creature that was created to naturally stand out, she embraced it and learned to use it to every bit of her advantage and she had absolutely no shame about basking in it.

Beauty faded and time would eventually catch up with her and Phryne wanted to enjoy every moment. She lived every day as if she knew she would never be as beautiful and as desirable as she is in that moment and she wanted to make the most of every bit of it. Vanity would not be her downfall but she could acknowledge she at least knew enough not to take her beauty for granted and saw no good reason to deny herself what simply was natural to her while it was hers. She knew she would have no regrets having appreciated the graces that she had been bestowed and would happily look back knowing that for some time in her life, she had been truly young and beautiful.

Satisfied with the perfectly applied deep crimson on her lips, she blew her reflection a playful kiss and swept out of her boudoir. She didn’t wear any other jewelry other than the ring she wore, a pair of green crystal drop earrings that went nicely with the emerald along with a headpiece designed to look like golden leaves crowning her head like a Greek goddess. She made her way out into the hallwayand towards the stairs, intent on finding her cape and her escort for the night.

Descending the steps in her gold painted pumps with delicate straps, Phryne couldn’t deny how her heart fluttered as she watched Jonathon’s eyes widen with obvious adoration and desire as he took in her full form. He didn’t waste time reaching for her, taking a couple of steps up the stairs to meet her with an outstretched hand.

“Phryne, you look absolutely stunning,” he crooned, escorting her down the last steps and didn’t let go of her hand until they were safely at the landing. He only briefly hesitated before leaning down to press his lips against hers, a kiss she gladly accepted and reciprocated with a tender smile. He pulled back with something like a happy sigh, brushing the back of his fingers along her cheekbone, “How you enthrall me.”

“How nice to know this hasn’t all been for naught,” she hummed, leaning into him so he could smell the French perfume she so generously applied onto her skin knowing how it would wreak havoc with his senses and turn him into putty in her capable hands. “Though I must say, you make it terribly easy to do so.”

“So, I have a weakness—I’m only human,” Jonathon laughed lightly against her skin, his fingers running along her knuckles and briefly lingered on the gem that adored her finger. “How appropriate that it would be you to render me so incredibly vulnerable when you give me so much strength.”

“You do say the loveliest things,” Phryne whispered, turning to press a discreet kiss against the side of his neck as she slipped her arms around his waist. “Let’s stay here tonight, darling…everyone else will be going out. Let’s just…be together, hmm?”

“Oh, but your Aunt Prudence is expecting us,” he responded though he was incredibly tempted to indulge her whim, inhaling the scent of her perfume deeply into his lungs and immediately feeling the stirrings of desire she elicited so easily from within him. “She would miss you, surely.”

She let out an exaggerated groan, squeezing his sides briefly, “Oh, sod it! She has the most awful timing!”

Jonathon laughed, slipping his hands on her and pulled her close, “A compromise then? We make an appearance, stay long enough to not be labeled as unconscionable dilletantes and make a swift exit? We’ll buy enough time to have the house all to ourselves and make sure your aunt doesn’t barge in here tomorrow asking to put my head on a spike for stealing her beloved niece away.”

“Oh, we can’t have that,” Phryne cooed with a pout. “Not with such a handsome head…”

“Glad you think so,” he chuckled just as Mr. Butler approached.

She gave him a quick peck on the cheek before turning her attention on the older man and they untangled their arms from each other, “Mr. Butler! Thank you for staying. I hope we have not intruded on your plans too terribly?”

“Not at all, Miss,” he smiled kindly, her luxurious black velvet cape in his hands. “I’ll lock up before I leave. I should be home before you or Miss Williams arrive.”

Phryne smiled affectionately, “No need to hurry on my account. If the party should run too late, we can just stay at Aunt P’s and come home tomorrow.”

Mr. Butler bowed his head slightly and proceeded to help her with her last piece of garment, “Very good, Miss. You’ll be taking the Hispano then?”

“Yes, yes,” she answered, glancing at her companion who nodded as he slipped on his own coat. “Jonathon will drive us. I think the boys were out pretty late celebrating a win…at something. I’m not sure.”

“I believe it was something about a horse, Miss,” the older man answered with a grin. “Mr. Yates seems to have picked up a tip from a fellow digger.”

“Of course,” she mock sighed. “We shant keep you further, Mr. B! I must say I’m not looking forward to this Gratitude Patron’s dinner. Not one of Aunt P’s better ideas, I think.”

“You can’t really mean that,” Jonathon said thoughtfully. “They help young girls, don’t they?”

“Handpicked and trained,” she huffed slightly, wrapping her cape a little tighter around herself. “The girls are lovely—they absolutely are—but I do wonder about the girls that don’t get picked…what happens to them?”

“Other girls?” his eyebrows shot up. “Is…where exactly do they come from?”

“That’s the thing,” she shrugged, frowning slightly. “I’m not entirely sure but I have half the mind to find out. I’d bet there’s a whole lot of them who don’t get picked and end up worst off for it. I’ll eat my cloche if I’m wrong.”

“Well, that’s something for another day,” he placed his hands on her velvet covered arms, rubbing them gently and pressed a kiss into her hair though he was careful not to jostle the golden leaves that adorned her head. “Although, knowing you, I’m sure you’ll have it all figured out by the end of tonight.”

Phryne brightened, “You know me too well, darling.”

“That I do,” he chuckled. “So, let’s be off then! We’ve got some girls who might need a helping hand from one Miss Phryne Fisher.” He gave Mr. Butler a hearty salute, “You have yourself a good night, sir. I’ll see to your charge in your absence.”

Mr. Butler chuckled, “Thank you, sir! Do enjoy your night.”

“That we will!” Jonathon grinned, taking Phryne’s hand in his and gave her an exaggerated bow after she made her goodbyes to the older gentleman. “Your chariot awaits, madame!”

“Aren’t you the chipper one tonight?” Phryne’s laughter echoed in the foyer as she allowed him to pull her along, gracefully descending the steps with him and walking down the path and on to the street to the awaiting vehicle.

Jonathon helped her in, making sure to not leave her dress to get caught in the door and picked up her left hand to brush a soft kiss along her knuckles. He looked down at the ring on her finger with overwhelming warmth in his eyes and gave her a heartbreakingly sweet smile, “It looks beautiful on you, love.”

Phryne smiled, running her fingers through his dusky blonde hair, “You make me feel…so wonderful, Jonathon. Do you know that?”

“I think I might have some idea,” he smiled, leaning his head down slightly as he enjoyed having her toy with his hair. It was so incredibly soothing, he was almost ready to take her up on her ealier offer of staying in instead.

“No…I’m not sure you understand,” she looked into his eyes intently. “These past few months have not been easy and I have no earthly idea what brought you back to me, but you…have been a balm to my soul. Thank you for returning to me.”

“You’ll always have me,” he responded earnestly, his eyes meeting hers. “Always.”

She breathed in deeply, “Always.”

“Whatever difficulties you might face or hardships that come your way, you won’t have to face them alone,” he offered fervently. “I am yours for as long as you will have me.”

“I won’t aways be this way, Jonathon,” she said quietly, a slight shadow falling across her lovely features. “How I am now…I won’t always be this creature who hides and disappears into a safe place. I’ve needed time to heal and you have helped so much but this won’t always be how I am…I will change back to who I was”

“And what is so terrible about that?” he asked, curious. “You are strong, brilliant and so incredibly wonderful. Whatever you have been through and whatever hurt that has come your way, has not diminished that at all. It never has and it never will.”

“I’m trouble and I’ll hurt you,” she warned darkly. “Be careful.”

He brushed the pad of his thumb underneath her bottom lip, “You don’t need to save me, Phryne.”

She frowned, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You are genuinely afraid of that, aren’t you?” he said tenderly, if a little sad. “You aren’t cruel and if you hurt me, I’ll know it was not done with malice. People get hurt, it happens. It won’t change what I feel for you.”

Her eyes were wide and almost childlike, “I never set out to hurt anyone.”

Jonathon nodded, “I never thought you did. I know you, love. I know who you really are…I wish you could see how much good there is in you and maybe you’d understand why I feel what I feel for you.”

Phryne leaned forward out of her seat and slipped her arms around his neck and held on to him tightly. She closed her eyes, breathing in his scent and said a silent prayer to the heavens she didn’t believe in to guide her and prevent her from making the same mistakes. He was a beautiful, kind and generous man and she knew she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she hurt him as well. More than anything she was scared of causing him pain and disappointing him too only to have him realize she wasn’t worth the trouble and give up on her as well. She wasn’t sure she could handle another loss.

“Just say the words and I will run away with you,” he whispered, as if sharing a secret with her in a crowd. “I didn’t come here to save you, Phryne—you’ve never needed saving, but I will take you wherever you want to go. Just say the words.”

She held on tighter to him but she couldn’t help the smile that appeared on her face, “I’m happy right where I am.”

His voice rumbled comfortingly as he spoke into her hair, “Then right here is where I shall always be.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the tags—the **Graphic Violence Warning** applies in this chapter and will continue to do so in a few following chapters.

Some part of Phryne knew she had made a mistake.

It didn’t occur to her until after she realized she was well and truly on her own and she had to swallow the urge to bolt through the main door and try and catch her retreating means of escape. She should have gone, she knew this but it was too late for her now. She had let Jonathon leave the party in her Hispano Suiza and now she was alone and without an actual means of escape. This was then when she considered phoning one of her faithful red-raggers and see which one of them could come collect her from Rippon Lea and take her home.

But that wouldn’t be possible, not after she had assured her aunt she wasn’t going anywhere.

A part of her almost resented Jonathon a little, remembering he had been the one to insist going only to be the one to leave early and with her beloved motorcar. Still, she had offered the vehicle but it was the most logical choice. It was the right thing to do but that did not mean she had to like it.

She initially thought this was an elaborate plan of his but it didn’t make sense if it involved leaving her behind, knowing him as she did. So, it had to be an unfortunate coincidence that the airfield where he had his de Havilland Tiger Moth had been broken into and a few planes were possibly damaged to an unknown extent. The office that oversaw the private airfield had called Wardlow to inform him and Mr. Butler had been kind enough to call Rippon Lea to make him aware. Jonathon hadn’t wanted to leave but Phryne had insisted he go—planes were not something to be careless with and she didn’t like the idea of anyone tampering with his bird and risking an ugly incident. Sabotage came in all shapes and forms and the idea of risking a crash terrified her more than anything.

Phryne would dare many things and take risks that could prove fatal, but she would draw the line at people she cared about. It was one thing for her to go on her adventures, it was another to drag someone else along and be responsible for their possible demise. Now, more than ever, Phryne was more hesitant in taking people with her, knowing the risks and not wanting the consequences. She had always cared for Jonathon but even more so now and her growing attachment to him was becoming more apparent as they continued to strengthen their bond.

Ignoring her own selfish desires, she swallowed the lump that had grown in her throat and found Commissioner Reginald Hall in the crowd who was, surprisingly, in deep conversation with none other than Deputy Commissioner George Sanderson. This surprised her as she hadn’t realized he had even arrived at her aunt’s estate but it was certainly not unwelcome. She brightened considerably, remembering how the Chief Commissioner of Police always remarked there would be no way his deputy would be caught dead in events like this even if his daughter was in frequent attendance more so now after the formal announcement of her engagement to his godson, Sidney Fletcher.

“Commissioner Hall _and_ Deputy Sanderson, this is rather unexpected!” Phryne exlaimed jovially and turned to their surprise guest with a gracious smile. “Good evening, Deputy Commissioner. How nice to have you here!”

“I’m not sure you’ve had the honor, Sanderson but this is the Honourable—”

“Miss Fisher,” Sanderson cut off his superior with a slight edge in his tone as he turned sharp eyes on the raven-haired detective he had heard so much about. “Yes, we’ve met. At the footy match, I believe. You were with one of my detective inspectors.”

“A footy match? Really, Phryne?” Commissioner Hall seemed quite tickled by the idea and didn’t seem to mind the possessiveness his second-in-command seemed to have with his men. “Oh-ho! I had no idea you were an enthusiast of such things!”

Before she could answer, the deputy cut in rather snidely, “Why, she’s an Abbotsford fan, Hall, if I’m not mistaken. Judging by the colors she was sporting.”

Phryne tried not to flinch but not for the reasons the older and rather prickly man thought, “Actually, I’m not much for sports except maybe tennis. I used to watch footy matches when I was small enough for my father to fit me on his shoulders but not since, I’m afraid.”

“Ah, looks like your intel could use some work, Sanderson,” the Commissioner smirked. “Miss Fisher is adept at many things and surely she has no trouble grasping something as simple as football but who has the time when she is as busy as she is? She’s keeping this city together, as far as I can tell.”

“Here I thought it would be the police force,” the old man remarked rather sourly.

“Chasing milk thieves and bagging murderers are all well and good—I should know my men well enough but this city will not see progress without the good works of people like Miss Fisher, I say!”

Phryne watched Sanderson closely, noticing the pinch in his forehead and the slight reddening of his ears and decided to step in, “Everyone contributes in their own ways, surely, Commissioner Hall. The only way to achieve proper progress is continued cooperation towards a shared goal.”

“Diplomacy at its finest,” the head of the force said gallantly. “Your talents do exceed your reputation, my dear.”

“Flatterer,” she returned gamely and, remembering their third, drew her attention back to him. “How are you enjoying the evening, Deputy Commissioner? It really is nice to have you with us.”

“Hadn’t planned on coming—work and all,” he shot his superior a sharp look. “But appearances must be kept up. I came with my daughter and her fiancé whom, I believe, you’ve also met.”

“They’re frequent guests and we have had the pleasure of working with Mr. Fletcher on a few charitable endeavors,” she answered politely. “Your daughter Rosie is quite lovely.”

“So she is,” he answered though his demeanor didn’t change. “Not in the detecting business anymore?”

“Not at the moment,” she answered with a small perfunctory smile. “Though I did find your police force to be quite solicitous. You and Commussioner Hall do a splendid job keeping together such a fine pool of officers.”

“Some finer than most, from what I’ve heard,” Sanderson remarked dryly. “How is Jack these days?”

“Enough shoptalk! Good lord, George!” the commissioner cut in quickly, shooting the other man a harsh glare. “Give it a rest for one night, you old dog. It’s a party! Do pretend to liven up a little, would you?”

Phryne, grateful for the intervention, gave the tall older man a gentle squeeze on his forearm and gave his deputy a small, tight smile, “This really has been lovely, gentlemen. Commissioner, I look forward to our meeting and we can discuss the final points of our project,” he smiled broadly at her and gave her a subtle wink which enticed a sweet smile from her before she turned towards Sanderson though she kept her face respectfully neutral while addressing him. “It really is lovely to have you here, Deputy. I’m afraid I shall have to make my excuses—my aunt requires duties of me that I really should attend to. Please do enjoy the rest of the evening.”

Both men gave her a deferential nod and she walked away with as much grace as she could muster, trying to shake off the obvious disapproval she felt rediating off the man in waves. Sanderson clearly had and intense dislike of her and had no problem making it known even as he stood in the grand halls of her aunt’s home. Phryne had never had such a run-in before and it left a bitter taste in her mouth which she was intent on ridding herself of. She grabbed a fresh champagne flute from a passing server and strode away, shedding off the heavy feelings Sanderson had heaped upon her. She deftly dodged any attempts at further small talks with other guests, slipping down a deserted cordoned off hallway and quietly slipped through the back stairs and up to the bedrooms she occupied in Rippon Lea.

Phryne downed her drink, trying hard not to hold on too tightly to the glass in her hand lest she break it and cause herself injury. Once she arrived safely and unencumbered at her destination, she entered through the door swiftly and shut it behind her with trembling hands. She sat down heavily into the cushioned seat in front of the vanity and found she was not at all surprised to see a small amount of blood slowly trickling out of her nose when she looked up to face her reflection on the mirror. She gave herself a bland look, simply reaching for a stark white handkerchief in one of the drawers and dabbed the evidence of her distress away.

More followed and she sighed, frowning and turned away from her reflection to approach the bed. She eased herself down, careful not to wrinkle her dress too much and sat up against the pillows. There would be no other recourse but to wait for the flow to cease and she sat there with a dark mood, silently cursing the unnecessary encounter. She wasn’t sure what Sanderson would have against her, not after the case involving the warring football teams ended with proper closure that involved the arrests of the right people. Phryne didn’t think she’d given anyone any reason to have a problem with her but apparently, she had. Still, it surprised her more than anything, that a man who was essentially a stranger with whom she had no obvious ties with at all if ever, would show such open disdain for her.

Phryne sighed, tilting her head back to look up at the ceiling and willed for the blood flow to stop. She was truly regretting not making her escape with Jonathon now, wishing instead she was at a darkened airfield mucking about in a plane rather than stuck hiding in her rooms at her aunt’s house. What she wouldn’t give to be in her beautiful gown under the stars with him and just leave it all behind once more.

She truly did appreciate how Commissioner Hall had stepped in for her. He was one of the very few people who witnessed the ugly incident at the manor and while she was a woman who prided herself on never needing to be saved, she was glad of the old gentleman’s discretion. She wasn’t sure what Rosie Sanderson may have told her father and she did not want to dwell but she didn’t want to think about it either. Well, she did not want to think about him. For someone who was truly there from the first time she had come home and had been present for nearly all the important moments since then, Phryne spent a lot of time not thinking about him.

Jack.

Something inside her stuttered and she ignored it as she had learned to do so in the recent months. There were many times, in the quietest moments, when thoughts of him would linger and then bloom. Initially, those thoughts had been mostly from the somber last days of their affiliation when he had almost gently dismissed her from his life. Sometimes, a part of her wished he had raised his voice or even showed some amount of cruelty—if only to make it easier to let him go. But he was a good, kind man and Phryne didn’t believe Jack was capable of such things which only made remembering him and what she could no longer have, all the more unbearable. 

In a measure to salvage her own sanity, she buried it all deeply and pretended none of it had ever been there. It didn’t heal the hurt and it didn’t ease the pain but it helped her ignore everything and pretend none of it had happened. It worked and, after some time, it became easier to breathe. Phryne learned how to be without and try to return to some form of normalcy that no longer included him and his presence. She was aware of her own denial, this poor way of coping amidst the loss but that had been the most she could muster. She changed her lifestyle, made more conscious choices and gave her time to other causes and to the people that were still in her life.

Phryne took her period of grief because it was essentially a loss, a death of something she held so dear. And like most deaths, it came out of nowhere, stole something precious and absconded like a thief in the night and left her in devastation. She mourned and coped, silently fell apart and tried to find ways to move on. And like grief, the sadness never really went away because the loss never stopped—some days were better, some days were darker but she kept moving forward.

Jack was not dead but the separation did the same thing death would have and it broke something in Phryne. There was comfort knowing he was out there, alive and well but it was more painful than actual loss. Death was inevitable and often, out of one’s control but the separation from Jack was a choice.

He consciously made a choice to leave her, to live in the same city, travel the same roads and walk in the same light—but without her. He was alive and breathing but chose to not have her in his life, to sever ties with her and no longer share the intimacies they once did. He did not want her, did not want anything to do with her and took great pains in never seeing her again.

That cut Phryne so much more deeply than anything else. What Jack had done was not a simple rejection, but an obliteration of her and what she thought had been their genuine friendship. He purged her out of his life in a way only he as a gentleman could and yet somehow, that hurt more than the rejection of her own family. It left her breathless and shattered to a point where she needed to hide herself and find a way to hold together what pieces of her was left.

When she saw him as he startled his way back into her life, she had been unprepared but felt a touch of joy. She never really truly appreciated what pleasure there was in simply seeing him, to see this beautiful creature so animated and alive but that feeling had been quashed quickly by the thunder in his eyes. She didn’t remember ever seeing him so angry _at her_ and after months of separation, it was jarring to see him at all in person but also dumbfounding to see such intense dislike directed at her from this man. The hurt had been overwhelming but the words they exchanged and the precise blows he delivered had been nothing short of devastating.

She left that fight hobbled, his raw anger and complete lack of restraint delivering a blow so stunning, it left her dizzy and breathless. The cruelty she wished for was granted and she realized too late she should have been more careful. If Jack had not made it clear before he wanted to be well and truly rid of her, he did that night. She felt she must have been a rather vile creature to induce such strong emotions from someone so kind and inherently good.

Phryne was numb for a while after, lost once more in renewed grief and obliteration. She was not built to need people but Jonathon had shown his great purpose. If there was light left in her, some good still worth cherishing, he gathered them and held them for her. He kept pieces of her together and reminded her she was worth caring for, worth more than her grief would allow her to see. 

Raising her left hand, she looked intently at the ring she wore on her finger. It could mean so much and everything all at once. Jonathon had made no formal offers or claims but she knew there was deep meaning to it and he made it knowing full well who Jack Robinson was and what he meant to her. She did not want to go into things with him blindly, to give him something she wasn’t sure she still had to give. 

Jonathon had given her his heart and his devotion, what could she offer in return? She had been careless, not realizing she had given her heart away to someone who did not want it and perhaps never did. She hoped to get it back, to find some way to get past everything and give Jonathon what she felt should be his. She felt such deep gratitude and adoration for him, loving him should be easy. Phryne took comfort knowing he would never hurt her or abandon her, felt safety in his care in ways she had not since she was a very small child.

She needed time to heal, to gather herself and get back to the person she was or could be after everything that had transpired. She would do so for the man who showed her such great love and affection. He deserved her whole and unencumbered and she would find a way to achieve that somehow, for him. She knew she needed to leave the past and everything it came with, where it belonged. She needed to let go of what was never hers, to fully accept what was no longer there and resolve to start fresh with someone who truly wanted her and desired her. 

Phryne needed to finally let go of Jack.

o0o

She stumbled up the steps, practically crawling on her hands and knees as she blindly tried to find a foothold.

The house was no longer a stranger to her but in her panic, she easily lost her way in the dimly lit backstairs where she hoped no one would find her. Surely people would be looking for her now, not just because of the ruckus she had caused or the orders she disobeyed, but for what she shouldn’t have been witness to. She didn’t know exactly what it was she heard but she knew it was horrible and she had made a possibly fatal mistake of letting her clumsiness get the best of her. She needed to get away—the grand home was full of nooks and crannies. All she needed to do for once in her life was not hit everything in sight and hide away and stay silent.

Terrified, she hoped they would not come looking or at least, someone will notice strangers walking about in parts of the home that was off-limits to guests. She knew how strict the lady of the house was and she counted on that giving her some form of protection. She needed to get away and hide until she was sure they would not come for her for surely, it had been their heavy footfalls she heard racing after her.

Stumbling, she tripped on her boots, hitting the wall rather heavily and she let out a plaintive cry. She tried to smother it, clamping a sweaty hand over her mouth and froze, listening for any sound. When none came, she swallowed with a painful hiccough, picked herself up and straightened her gray skirts, still keeping silent and waiting for any indication she had been followed. Briefly, she contemplated taking her boots off to make sure her footfalls would not give her away but she was too scared to delay and she held her hand out as she ran, moving as quick as she could down the long hallway. She would just need to find an empty room to hide in and hope they would give up looking for her.

Breathing heavily and feeling as if she could simply vomit her own heart out, she stumbled a couple more feet before a door she was reaching for suddenly opened. She swallowed a cry, cowering back and fell against the wall, crying hysterically into her fists. Her eyes were so filled with tears and it only made her already awful vision even more impaired than it already was.

“Joan?”

Her head snapped up and her eyes widened behind her glasses that were now hanging askew on her sweat and tear-stained face, “Miss Fisher!”

She heard her before she saw her and knew her voice immediately. She pushed her thick glasses back onto her face properly and recognized the dress from earlier in the evening, how the guests marveled at it and whispered about it. The niece of her employer was good woman, known among the staff as far kinder and easier to approach than her stern aunt. She couldn’t help the flood of relief that rushed through her small body at the blurry sight of her and without thought to propriety or the mere fact that she could easily lose her job for such lack of discretion, she threw her arms around the taller woman and sobbed.

“Oh, dear, whatever is the matter?” the beautiful elegant lady reached out for her in concern and did not hesitate to put careful hands around her as she cried with relief and terror all at once. “What’s wrong, Joan? Joan? Talk to me.”

She tried to speak but found she could not, letting out hiccoughing sounds as she struggled for breath. She motioned to the hallway she just emerged from with shaking fingers, “P-pl-please!”

Phryne glanced down the way the girl indicated worriedly before opening her bedroom door once more and took the girl inside. She closed it quietly and locked it before leading the girl to her bed and sat her down. Joan was still crying too hard, barely able to breathe in her distress which worried her. She rubbed the young girl’s forearm gently for a moment but found that did nothing to calm the girl. Phryne moved towards the small table in the corner and reached for a clean washcloth, soaking it in the fresh water in the porcelain basin before sitting by her side.

“I’m sorry, this might be cold,” she whispered to the girl before beginning to wipe her face carefully. The parted plaits Joan had left her hair in now looked incredibly messy and Phryne went about undoing them easily with deft fingers. She kept the ties looped around her wrist as she redid each braid with expert fingers before going back to cleaning her face oncre more until she began to calm. She had had to relearn how to comfort a young girl like this once Jane came into her life—not that her charge was prone to histrionics but she was still a young girl and life was filled with much too much that could easily break a gentle heart. 

Fat tears were still making their way down Joan’s splotchy cheeks and Phryne tried to not show her own distress when the girl was already so distraught. She had seen people pass out from emotional distress and she knew if she didn’t calm the poor girl, she might be headed down that path. She whispered gentle words to the girl, rubbing her back in soothing circles as she kept her by her side.

“Oh, you poor thing,” she found herself saying. “It’s alright, Joan. It’s alright. You’re safe here.”

“Th-they’ll take me! Please-please d-don’t let them! P-please, Miss F-fisher!”

The girl sounded so completely terrified and desperate, Phryne glanced beside her, noting her own purse next to her that contained lipstick, a small case of powder, a bit of money, a handkerchief, lockpicks and her trusted gold revolver. She still wasn’t sure what was distressing the girl so much but she was clearly terrified and whatever was scaring her, she had just been running away from which meant she felt immediate danger within the walls of Rippon Lea. This was so unnatural and unexpected, even Phryne felt the prickling of nervousness in the back of her neck. Why? She wasn’t sure, maybe it was just the palpable fear radiating off the young girl but she felt the unease in her own veins. In all the years she spent visiting her aunt’s opulent home, she had never felt unsafe there, not even during the short but terrifying reign of Murdoch Foyle. It unnerved her in ways she never expected to be.

“Joan, dear, you need to tell me what’s happened,” Phryne tried again, her voice gentle but firm. “What’s wrong? Why are you so—”

There was a loud knock and she felt her pulse jump as the girl let out a whimper, burrowing closer to her side and clutched at her waist so tightly it was almost painful. Phryne hated the tickle of unease that crawled along her own skin, scolding herself silently for letting the hysterics of a child get to her so easily.

“Don’t,” Joan croaked. “It’s them. They’ll send me away.”

Before she could assure the girl, a sharp voice pierced through the locked door.

“Phryne! Dear girl, are you in there?”

Joan’s body seemed to release some tension which told Phryne her aunt was not her source of distress so she stood up, untangling herself from the girl. She crossed the room easily and opened her bedroom door to reveal Prudence Stanley standing there with one of her servants, looking none too happy. She couldn’t help but show her own relief at seeing her aunt instead of whatever phantom that was haunting the child.

“Phryne! So this is where you’ve gone to, I—Joan? There you are!” she shot her niece an accusing look before stepping into the threshold in a hurry, closing the door on the servant on the other side. “You’ve caused quite the stir, girl! What have you to say for yourself?”

“What’s going on?” Phryne cut in, stepping between her aunt and the girl. “Aunt P?”

“She was given explicit instructions she was not to join the other girls tonight but she went anyway,” Prudence all but snapped. “I told her she isn’t ready, not until we fit her with proper glasses that help her see better—now look what she’s done. My Royal Albert tea set is in ruins!”

Joan whimpered, “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Stanley. I’m so sorry.”

“Aunt P, honestly! A tea set? This is what this is all about?”

“Phryne, please! This matter does not concern you.”

“No, look what you’re doing—the poor girl is terrified out of her wits!”

“She had explicit instructions not to interfere tonight!”

“And I’m sure she is sorry to have done so as it has caused all this unnecessary hysteria,” Phryne tried to rein in her temper, glancing at the poor girl who couldn’t do anything but cry now. “Aunt P, I’m sorry about your tea set. I’ll find you something just as lovely to replace them. Joan can’t help it if she can’t see, you understand, don’t you?”

Prudence pursed her lips tightly, “Yes, I do, but I have to say, Joan—I am very disappointed in you. How you could disobey an order when I’ve taken you into my home—”

“I’m so sorry,” Joan whispered, turning beseeching eyes on the stern woman. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Stanley.”

She could see her aunt cracking under the pathetic display but she knew this won’t be so easy to resolve. If her aunt was throwing a fit over a tea set then she had some idea of which particular set this could be—the beautiful bone China tea set that her husband had gifted her with one Christmas many years ago. It had great sentimental value and Phryne knew this could be the only reason why the woman would have such a disproportionate fit over material things when she was never short of them.

“It’s been a long night,” Phryne said with a sigh. “I’m so sorry this has upset you, Aunt Prudence, but if you’d like—I’ll take Joan with me tonight. If you’re feeling better tomorrow, I’ll take her back here. If not, I’ll keep her with me in the meantime, alright?”

“But the party, I—” her aunt paused, frowning. “Why are you up here? Surely you didn’t take the girl all the way up here just to—”

“Spilled some champagne on my dress, I’m afraid,” Phryne let the lie slip through easily, gesturing towards the discarded champagne glass and the washcloth next to the basin. “Joan found me. I think she got lost.”

“Whatever were you doing up here, girl?” Prudence groaned miserably but seemed to deflate altogether. “Very well. I really am quite upset with you…I think it’s best if you stay with my niece while I ruminate what to do with you.”

Joan dropped her head, “Yes, Mrs. Stanley.”

Phryne shook her head at her aunt, placing a hand on the girl’s shoulder and squeezed gently. “You’ll be alright, Joan. Aunt P’s bark is worse than her bite.”

The old matron’s eyes flashed as she thundered, “Phryne!”

She simply smiled impishly at her aunt, “I’m just teasing.”

“You impossible girl!”

Phryne batted her lashes at her charmingly, “Surely you wouldn’t mind having Mr. Pierce drive us home? Jonathon won’t be back until much later, I’m afraid and a taxi—”

Her aunt looked dizzy by the meandering conversation, “You’re leaving already?”

“I’m not feeling too well, I must confess,” she said, not entirely lying now. “And with Jonathon gone, I feel rather…unaccompanied?”

“Very well,” Prudence nodded in understanding, straightening up and schooling her features into a more pleasant look. “The dinner was a success, my dear. Thank you for coming.” She shot Joan a disapproving glance, shaking her head at the girl before giving her niece a stern look. “No taxis this time of night, you troublesome girl. Do you realize how dangerous that could be?” 

“I’m sure we’d be alright if—”

But her aunt would hear none of it, “You’ll exit through the side to avoid causing a fuss—I shall make the appropriate excuses for your early departure and I’ll have Mr. Pierce bring the motorcar around.” Her imperious tone softened as she took a closer look at her niece, noting the paleness on her cheeks that had nothing to do with the powder she applied. “Are you alright, Phryne?”

“Quite,” she smiled serenely. “Just a bit tired, I think. It’s been a day.”

“Well, you rest, girl,” she reached forward and patted her gently on the arm. “Joan’s things will be in the motorcar.”

“Thank you, Aunt P,” Phryne smiled indulgently. “For your understanding.”

The older woman could only give her a slight eyeroll, “You, my dear girl, are far too skilled at too many things.”

Including turning her mood around faster than her brain could catch up, but Prudence didn’t have to say that out loud. She was sure the girl knew this well enough, having learned this skill so very long ago and had just spent the passing years perfecting it as she went. It was one of her more simultaneously endearing and infuriating traits, of which she had many. Sometimes she really didn’t know what to do with her but oh, did she love her all the same. She waved a hand at the two young women, exiting the room with a forced huff and took her servant with her, barking out instructions as she went to make arrangements for her niece’s departure.

Phryne smiled, watching her aunt go and gave Joan a gentle squeeze beside her once more. The girl was still crying but was considerably calmer now, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand as she held on to her glasses with shaking fingers. She smiled at the girl with a gentle look.

“Some cocoa and biscuits should hit the spot once we get home, don’t you think so?”

o0o

In the end, it only took a few assumptions and some misunderstandings to set things in motion.

That night, the staff of Rippon Lea helped their matron to her rooms and assisted her when she was finally able to retire for the night. Prudence Stanley would not deny she was getting on in age and she took the kind offer of her most trusted senior members of the household that they would take care of the house for the night. So, she headed off to bed after checking on her slumbering son and went on to sleep finally rest for the night. The grand home was put back to rights, the lights doused and the estate locked up for the night to ensure security. All the guests had gone and had been seen to and the staff retired after yet another successful gathering, save for one unfortunate incident with a young girl but she’d been sent away for the night. No one noticed anything amiss and so no one thought there was reason to worry.

Footmen retired, servers put the silver and the china away, the cooks cleaned the kitchen and tossed out what needed to be rid of and the motorcars were secured in the garage and locked up for the night. The butler and housekeeper made sure the house was set and retired after making one more run through of the home.

Nobody spoke of the unaccounted for black Bentley or the driver that had been sent out. The other driver who did notice its absence had heard from one of the servers it had been sent out with their mistress’ niece and therefore assumed it would be returned the following day. Those who did not notice it was missing, went on about their own duties and forgot about the matter with the clumsy scullery maid and their employer’s niece completely. All tasks were completed and all cutlery accounted for—as far as the household of the grand home was concerned, everything had gone well and it had been a successful night of service.

For the red and white house on St. Kilda, the butler did indeed arrive at the home before anyone else did that night. His arrival was followed closely by an exuberant Dot who was still quite giddy from the exciting film her beau had just taken her to though she did not fail to notice her mistress’ absence. Mr. Butler, upon noticing the time, assumed that their employer and her beau had simply decided to stay the night at Rippon Lea and assured the younger woman they would come home the next day. So, Wardlow was secured for the night and the household retired to their beds.

Jonathon Lofthouse, at that same moment, was still at the airfield. There had indeed been a break in and planes had been damaged and vandalized, including his silver bird but they were still examining the extent of the destruction. Having agreed to stay and resolve the issue as long as necessary, he didn’t think to check if his companion had made it home after being assured that she would find her own way. He trusted she would, knowing the resources at her disposal and her general independence so his focus had been on the damaged tail of his Tiger Moth, assessing the part closely and the possible ramifications it brought with it. As simple as a crack on a tail of a plane could lead to the most disastrous and fatal results and he had been left contemplating the matter and conferring with the airfield mechanics on what could be done.

So intent he was in contemplating his options and whether he would need to give up his newly acquired silver plane, he didn’t think much of home until well after the sun had gone up the very next morning. Though even then, being too tired after having spent the whole night assessing the damages on his aircraft as well as a few others, he took up the mechanic’s offer of a free bunker and proceeded to catch up on some much-needed sleep. He had been so dead on his feet, he was worried he would crash his companion’s beloved motorcar should he attempt the drive home.

Once everything finally came to light, all this, he would look back on with such destructive regret it would inform the following days’ events in many ways that would lead to certain decisions with possibly damning results. To an outsider, it would be easy to see how one moment after the another fed into the whole affair and shape what would later be considered a series of catastrophic confrontations. There would be plenty of regrets and recriminations to go around but not until everything finally came to a head and they would all realize what disastrous results one single night had wrought. It would be as explosive and destructive, leaving many to wonder if perhaps, things could have been done differently and maybe things could have turned out better.

But as with many things, it would need to get darker for the light to be seen once more.

o0o

The interior of the motorcar was silent as Phryne and Joan rode in the backseat together.

After exiting through the side of the house to avoid being detained by any of the remaining guests, one of the Stanley estate’s drivers took the backroad leading away from the property she herself tended to favor. They were alone in the darkened road, the lights of the vehicle being the only source of illumination other than the moon and the innumerable stars in the sky. Joan had calmed down considerably but still acted skittish, looking around with frantic eyes while keeping much too close to Phryne. She didn’t try to dislodge the girl and instead, kept her close as well. Whatever had scared the girl so much was still apparently very much a factor despite the none too final dismissal from her aunt’s household.

Phryne thought back to their initial interaction, “Joan…you said ‘don’t let them take me away’—you didn’t mean my aunt, did you?”

The girl avoided looking at her, her sad eyes hidden behind those unfortunate spectacles glued to the opened window. “…I’m sorry, Miss Fisher. I was just upset.”

“But you were—still are—terrified,” she pointed out, concerned. “You’ve barely taken a breath since we left. What’s going on? I know there’s something else other than the broken tea set.”

“Miss Fisher, I—” the girl stopped when the motorcar started to slow down and Phryne took notice as well, looking up to see a parked vehicle with open doors in the middle of the road, blocking their path.

“What on earth…?” she frowned, noticing the lights were off on the other vehicle. “Mr. Pierce?”

“Must be a flat,” their driver commented gruffly. “I’ll see about getting them to move, Miss.”

“No,” Joan gasped and sat up straighter, breathing heavily all of a sudden. “No-no, we have to leave.”

“What’re you talking about?” Phryne asked, surprised as the girl grabbed at her. “Joan?”

“Have to, girl, or we’ll have to double back,” the older man replied. “Won’t be too long, I’m sure.”

“It might be them,” the girl pleaded. “Please, we have to turn back.”

“This won’t take long,” Phryne assured her. “This is the closest path to—”

“I heard them!” Joan said hurriedly, her eyes wild and desperate as she clutched at her once more. “I heard them talking! They were talking about girls and they were angry! They said they needed one more before they could leave because-because the shipment was short—”

“What? What shipment?” Phryne asked, so utterly confused she failed to notice the driver getting out of the vehicle. Her mind began to run a mile a minute, trying to comprehend what the frantic girl was trying to tell her.

“—I heard them on the balcony! Two men—they were angry!” Joan had grabbed onto Phryne’s forearms, gripping them so tightly, her nails were digging into her skin painfully. “They need one more girl and they said-they said there was a hotel! I got scared and I tried to leave but I tripped and hit the tea set and they heard me. One of them said I had heard everything and they needed to get me! They chased me! Now they’re here, we have to get out of here. We need to leave!”

“What are you—?” Phryne was utterly stunned, not understanding but somehow having some sort of idea what the girl was trying to say. She looked up, ready to tell the driver to get them away from there only then realizing he had left the motorcar. “Mr. Pierce? Mr. Pierce, no! Come back, we—” she stopped when she saw him approach someone who immediately struck him across the face, knocking him flat on the ground and Joan screamed. 

Having no time to dwell on the fallen man, Phryne reached for her purse, pulling out her gold revolver just as the stranger approached the vehicle. There were no other source of illumination other than the headlights of both vehicles and she couldn’t see his face, couldn’t see if he had made an effort to hide his identity or brazenly left it on display. She reached out, locking her door beside her and turned to Joan’s, remembering then the girl had left the window open. She moved past her, locking the door and cranking it as quickly as she could to close it before the other approaching figure could reach the motorcar and attempt to enter.

“Get behind me!” she ordered and the girl scrambled desperately, whimpering and crying the whole time. “Get down, Joan! Keep your head down.”

Phryne barely got the window to close when something struck the window once then twice before it shattered and she jumped back, turning away from the spray of broken glass though she kept her gun pointed right at the window. “Stop! Stop or I’ll shoot!”

She looked up and commanded the girl without looking, “Joan, get out of here. Run! Go, I—” To her horror, there was another sound of shattering glass but this time it came from behind her and Joan screamed, “Miss Fisher! Miss Fisher! He’s here! Help me!”

Phryne turned in alarm, catching sight of a hand reaching through the wreckage of the other window, trying to get to the lock. She had a split second to decide before she turned and fired, pointing straight at the phantom. She didn’t see where she hit him but she heard him scream out a profanity and jump back. “Run, Joan! Get out of here! Go!”

She turned back to face the other window only to have her wrist trapped in a vicelike grip and yanked her arm back and away from her target. The door was wide open now and her assailant had gotten through. Phryne let out a strangled gasp, accidentally squeezing the trigger and causing a shot to go right through the roof of the Bentley. The assailant smashed her hand against the back of the driver’s seat over and over again, practically crushing the bones in her wrist until she let out a grunt and was forced to drop her weapon. 

“Miss Fisher, help me! Please, help me! Oh, Miss Fisher!”

Behind her, Joan’s screams got louder and even more hysterical and desperate, one of her kicking boots catching Phryne in the small of her back. It knocked the breath out of her but she reared back, trying to reach for the girl with one hand while shaking off her own captor, “Joan—I’m coming! I—”

He pulled at her, keeping a grip on her burning wrist and would not budge so Phryne kicked out in frustration, catching his forearm with her heel and he let go of her. She tried to grab Joan, only to have her taken away, kicking and screaming, reaching out for her in terror. Phryne threw herself across the seat and tried to scramble out of the motorcar to get the girl back but she felt herself get yanked her back by her ankle then a hand buried itself into her hair. Her gold headpiece was viciously ripped from her head and fingers dug deeply into her locks, wrapping around a clump right at the roots with a ruthless unforgiving grip.

Phryne screamed, fighting against the painful hold as she felt her body being dragged across the seat until her back was pressed against someone’s chest. Her scalp burned painfully as she kicked out and tried to claw her way out but the coat covering the man’s forearm was too thick. She tried to pull the skirts of her dress up to reach for the dagger hidden in her garter but something flew across her vision. Before she knew it, an arm clamped across her chest to hold her down then a rag with a familiar overpowering sickly-sweet chemical smell was pressed against her face, covering her nose and mouth.

“No—” she managed to scream before her words were smothered into the fabric.

She tried not to breathe even when the hand on her face seemed intent to crush her cheekbones in its grip, but it was too much. She bucked her body, her fingers trying to pry his hand from her face but she knew she was losing and quickly. Her captor held her to his body, his chest against her back, holding her down like she was nothing even as she fought with everything she had. Phryne tried to breathe as little as possible even though she knew she would not win. She writhed, she kicked, she squirmed and she wriggled any way possible to no avail.

The harder she fought, the more energy she expelled, the more air she needed and the more of the chemicals she breathed into her body. Her limbs began to feel heavier, like she was moving through molasses and it hurt where the toxic gas ruthlessly made its way up her nose and her lungs burned and her head began to throb painfully. She flailed about, wide-eyed and terrified, trying not to let mindless panic overtake her. But it was no use, this was not a fight she could ever win and Phryne knew in that moment she had lost the struggle.

It took no more than five minutes of nothing but the sickly-sweet smell of chloroform and the sounds of Joan’s desperate pleas for help before her body finally succumbed to the doomed battle and her eyes rolled to the back of her head. Phryne fell into a dark heavy fog as she slid limply against the body holding her, her head lolling to the side, her arms growing still and her legs falling in deadweight, splayed across the seat under her skirts.

She felt nothing else and heard nothing more, not when Joan too had been rendered unconscious and tossed into the backseat of the other vehicle. She did not feel her body being lifted off the back of her the damaged Bentley nor did she hear the strange voices argue who would drive the expensive black vehicle and what they would do with the bodies. She knew nothing, felt nothing as she was loaded into the other motorcar, her own voluminous velvet cape thrown over her body to camouflage her in the darkness should anyone catch a glimpse as they drove by.

The world had simply slipped into complete darkness and it took only a little over ten minutes to make the two young terrified women disappear. The evidences were dispatched as if nothing at all had taken place, leaving the dusty old road as quiet and as unbothered as it had been before. It took two men and one driver to commit the crime, leaving only the lonely moon and the silent stars to bear witness to such unspeakable acts. 

As quickly as it had begun, it was all over and silence reigned. No one would be the wiser, not for a while and by then, they would have been too late and irreversible damage would have already been inflicted. Time, it would seem, would be left to determine if there would be anything left to get back. And at what cost.

On one side of the deserted road lay trampled a broken crown of golden leaves glinting faintly in the darkness.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WARNING:**  
> 
> 
> This chapter contains **graphic violence** , **character death** and **attempted sexual assault** that some of you might find triggering. If this is not something you are comfortable with, please take a moment to decide whether you would like to proceed or not.
> 
> This chapter is divided into sections and most of the warnings do apply in the first section. You can choose to skip and move to the second section and continue on from there where there is minimal violence. Thank you.

Staying still is not one of Phryne Fisher’s strong suits.

Living a lifetime of endless motion, frenetic activities and living every half a decade after another in a different continent, the very idea of being in one place at one time with no movement is an entirely foreign idea to her. It is against her nature, being so still and yet, there she was—stuck in a small, dank, cold metal cabin dressed in her elegant frock with her head threatening to explode right out of her skull. A pile of rope lay on the ground next to her feet, carelessly thrown aside. 

The only evidence of her possibly dire situation was the angry redness around her marred wrists where the coarse material had been tied with a rather poorly executed knot. It was odd, considering she had been unconscious when she was bound and she was—as she correctly assumed—on a cargo ship. What kind of a sailor didn’t know how to tie a proper knot? Out of all the things that could possibly catch her attention, it was that. 

She had woken up on the hard bunk bed she found herself perched on, still dressed in the beautiful creation by the House of Fleuri with her wrists and ankles bound in thick ropes. She had not wasted time trying to find a way out, freeing herself and trying to spot any weak points in the small steel room. The cabin they deposited her in was small, just enough for a hard bunk and a built-in table with no seat. The room was very bare, very utilitarian, leaving her with nothing to try to pry her way out of the hateful little room. The grimy porthole she could barely see out of told her she was probably somewhere in the middle of the ship and above deck.

Nothing had ever brought her so much relief than seeing still black waters and the faint hint of light from the port. They weren’t at sea—at least, not yet which made her feel less frantic about her situation. As long as they were still tethered to land, escape was not impossible and all she needed to do was bide her time. If she was lucky, they were still docked in the Port of Melbourne, but to her, as long as there was land then she could make do. 

Ever since she had regained consciousness, she was sure no one had yet come for her and there were no signs visible of anyone doing so. She wasn’t sure how long she was unconscious for either, though she remembered every moment of the abduction. If they saw fit to starve her and deprive her of water, she wasn’t sure either but she hadn’t been awake for long, not by her own calculations.

She still needed to find Joan, hoping beyond hope that the girl was alright. She could still hear her screams in her ears which made her head hurt more. Phryne could not find her small black crystal beaded evening bag either, which was unfortunate though understandable considering they probably did not want an armed hostage. Not that she was completely devoid of all of her tools, which she found comforting in so many ways.

Kicking her foot in the air, she untangled her crossed legs and stood up, letting out a huff. Phryne felt a lot steadier on her feet now, feeling the after-effects of the chloroform she was forced to inhale recede more and more. It had not been the most pleasant way to wake up, feeling sick and nauseous with a migraine to boot and she would have to take up her displeasure up with whatever unfortunate soul saw fit to ambush her so foolishly.

Irritated, she began to approach the steel door again, hoping to find some way out. Even if she had her lockpicking tools with her, there was no way she could lock pick out of those silly weathertight doors but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try and see what she was up against. She never did like traveling by sea, she thought grimly. Just as she was about to reach for the frame, there was a loud rumbling sound and suddenly the door was being swung open. Phryne jumped back, surprised but she stayed where she was. Two men came in, one of them large enough to block the way completely with no hope of even squeezing through and they stood there, gaping at her.

“Good evening, gentlemen,” she drawled with so much confidence she shouldn’t have.

“I thought you said she was tied up,” the larger of the two grumbled as if she couldn’t hear them. “This sheila’s tryna’ go on a walkabout.”

“Who cares? Boss wants her,” his short companion snarled, showing a spectacularly incomplete set of teeth that had Phryne’s gums aching in sympathy. “Just take her.”

Refusing to acknowledge the fear lurking in the back of her mind, Phryne stood straighter and gave them her most cutting look. “I appreciate asking for my input, boys, but nobody’s taking me anywhere.”

“Wily one, ain’t she?” the big one smirked, his eyes raking her body with the worst intentions and it made her wish she could throw herself into the black waters and wash him off her body. 

Briefly, Phryne contemplated trying to fight her way out but she was up against a man who was more than twice her size and his meaty weathered hands told her he could probably snap her spine like a twig. As repulsive as she found them, she had nothing against them on brute force. So, grudgingly, she raised her hand to indicate she was no threat and stood still.

The leering large oaf promptly grabbed her left wrist in a bruising grip, jerking her towards him before she could even consider what was about to happen. Phryne let out a strangled gasp when a sack was suddenly thrown over her head, obscuring her vision. She fought against hands that took liberties in snaking around her body, felt a groping hand brush over her breast and wrapped harshly around her waist while another clamped her wrists together and replaced the rope she had shaken off. She was pulled like a ragdoll against someone—most likely Leery—and tripped over her own feet when they began to drag her out of the small cabin.

They didn’t care how she tripped over the frame of the hatch, knocking her feet out from under her painfully. This seemed to roll the entire world from under her and Phryne felt herself fall gracelessly against a cold steel wall. She heard someone mutter a curse before she was suddenly swept off the ground and thrown over one shoulder like a sack as if she weighed nothing. Instinctively, she struggled against being manhandled so carelessly but her futile efforts to kick her way off the tight grip did nothing but cause her captor to tighten his grip around her. The arm around her legs tightened and she felt a very undignified and painful warning smack against her bum.

“Settle or I’ll smack you around ‘til yer not squirmin’ no more!”

Phryne stopped, hearing Toothless’ snickers and tried to breathe through the painful dig of the man’s shoulder into her stomach with each step. She could feel the blood rush through her head which only made the migraine even worst. She tried to swallow the nauseous feeling that was making its hasty return, wishing she would not end up stuck with a sack full of her own vomit about her head. Her bound arms hung down uselessly and she didn’t try to adjust how her body hung on the man’s shoulder anymore, for fear of escalation in violence.

She tried to count steps and how long they traveled for, hearing the closing of hatches and doors, the thundering of steps going in the opposite direction. The sounds were sometimes too faint to distinguish but she could hear them, some voices, some dull thuds here and there. The two henchmen who were transporting her were talking about random things she couldn’t really understand, but she listened anyway. She could smell the sea air and something else that always seem to linger on ships, no matter what kind and no matter how luxurious. It was a smell she was familiar and resentful of, something she noticed when she was a child, traveling for the very first time to England with what was left of her broken family.

At some point, she felt Leery begin to go up some steps, his boots clanging against steel and then, walking a little bit further. He approached more steps, bouncing her along painfully against him, only this time it sounded like his soles were falling on wood. It was then Phryne noticed she could no longer smell the sea air which did not fail to draw her attention as she subtly raised her head even though she could not see.

Suddenly, everything seemed to stop and she felt her stomach roil at being in the odd position for too long and stuck swaying about like a pendulum. It felt like all the blood had rushed to her head now and she was beginning to feel faint once more, though this time there were no foreign chemicals involved.

“Took you long enough,” came the snarl. “In there.”

Before Phryne knew it, she was being flipped over again, practically tossed back onto her unsteady feet and she fell, tripping over her own feet and gracelessly fell in a heap. There were cruel rumbles of laughter around her though there was a commanding voice that floated over them, “Oy! Easy there, you dumb oaf.”

“Sorry—she’s heavy!”

“Then you should have let her walk!”

“She slow!”

“No, you are, you idiot,” came the vicious reply. “Get the hell out.”

There was a sound of a door closing and it was only then Phryne could manage to make herself slowly get up, pushing against the wood underneath her fingers. Her equilibrium was slow to return, her mind swimming as if she was already on a moving ship. There was a rustling sound and suddenly, the bag was ripped off her head and she blinked owlishly for a moment before her eyes returned to focus and her vision adjusted. She squinted, finding there were artificial lights about and the walls were in red tones of wood, varnished and clean. It was an entire world away from the bare utilitarian cabin she had been in and she didn’t have to be well-versed in sea travel to understand she was in someone’s living space, a private room for one.

Sprawled as she was on the floor in her frock, she twisted by the waist and adjusted with her hip until she was sitting on her rear and looking up at a stranger who stood towering over her prone form. He was quite tall with a stocky body that was obviously shaped by hard labor and there were weathered lines on his face. He didn’t look British and if he was the one barking at Leery and Toothless earlier, then his accent gave him away. He was a foreigner, not even English or anywhere close. Definitely from somewhere in Europe, probably Belgian.

He stared at her for a moment before unceremoniously grabbing her by her upper arms and picking her up. It really was beginning to annoy her, being dragged around and picked up like a doll they couldn’t decide what to do with. It was rather undignified and so very crass. She didn’t fight him though as he pulled her to her full height, pulling her so close to him, she could see the deep dark brown tones of his eyes. He looked away, letting out a huff and proceeded to deposit her on the top of a sturdy wooden table, plopping her butt on the surface like a child, leaving her feet hovering over the floor.

Phryne’s eyes wandered for a moment, spotting a photo over a mantle, a sizable spyglass and some maps on the corner. She easily surmised she was in the captain’s cabin and by the dark coat and hat with the distinctive insignia that were lumped on a seat in the corner, she knew she was right. He was dressed in a dark pair of pants that matched the abandoned coat and a white singlet that showed his large frame. The rest of the room looked lived in but not messy with small bits of baubles there but mostly it was maps and various instruments one might use to navigate the seas. 

So caught up she was with her perusal, she missed his hand reaching for her neckline and she jumped, smacking it away from her by sheer reflex. She glared at him, her eyes flashing with indignation at his boldness.

“My employer has given explicit instructions to get rid of you once we reach open waters,” he said easily, looking down her neckline as if he hadn’t just been rebuked. “Dead or alive, to my own discretion.”

“We haven’t left port yet, if I’m not mistaken,” Phryne said with obvious distaste. She didn’t care for ungentlemanly behavior, even while she was at someone else’s mercy.

“I am also instructed not to sample the goods,” he said with a small, dangerous smile. “But you—you, my dear, are not part of the shipment.”

She didn’t need to have it spelled out to her and the nauseous feeling came back immediately. The way his eyes roamed her body, lingering on her neckline and then her lips, she knew exactly what she had been brough to him for, why Leery and Toothless seemed almost excited by the idea of her transport. A sick pit in her stomach grew and she swallowed the bile that threatened to rise.

“You have a choice—this can be very easy or very hard,” he reached out again, just as boldly though this time he knew he definitely had her attention and his large hand landed on her chest, his fingers brushing against her collarbones. “I can kill you after I finish with you and you won’t have to suffer what awaits you in those depths…or I can finish with you, give you to my men and make sure you’ll still be alive after to feel every bit of hell waiting for you down there.”

For once, Phryne’s mind could not come up with a clever quip or a quick riposte. He didn’t waver as he spoke, his eyes meeting hers with such certainty, it left her with very little doubt of her fate. He meant every word he said, the predatory gleam in his eyes and the calmness in his voice unnerving her in ways no other person alive had ever done so. He was cold and felt not one single smidgen of regard for her life or anyone else’s. Phryne felt her blood freeze in her veins, understanding what she was up against and what her chances of survival were.

“And the girl?” she managed to say, though her voice had begun to weaken. “The girl…Joan.”

“You won’t be alone, in the end,” he said simply. “They don’t want the likes of her. She’s defective.”

“Let her go,” Phryne said with a tinge of despair, her eyes wide. “Do what you want…with me. Let her go.”

“I wasn’t giving you a choice,” he said darkly, reaching down and she didn’t have to look where his hand was heading. “Maybe if you prove your worth…I’m not always the best at following instructions. Maybe an arrangement can be made…if you do well enough.”

There was no question on what sort of arrangement he might have in mind.

“Being in the open seas can be lonely,” she muttered, looking away. “The girl?”

“Time will tell,” he shrugged lazily. “But I won’t guarantee her safety…I can’t even guarantee yours.”

“But you’re the Captain,” she looked at him from underneath her lashes. “Surely you can find ways.”

“You’re not in any position to bargain,” he rolled his eyes and moved closer to her, pushing her further up on the polished surface of the table. He nudged her knees apart with his upper thighs as far as they would go but her fitting skirts were restrictive, “So, are you going to cooperate or will I have to dictate the terms?”

Phryne offered him her wrists wordlessly, knowing she was sealing her own fate. She felt her soul die a little when a smile appeared on his face and he pulled out a knife from somewhere in his boot. Once he cut her free, she let her hands fall to her sides and she sat there, with him between her knees and his hands running along the shoulder of her black gown. He didn’t say anything as he slipped the fabric off one shoulder then the next, revealing her champagne colored camisole with the thin silk straps. He looked down at her chest and sliced his knife at the bodice of her gown, splitting the fabric easily. Phryne flinched, closing her eyes to avoid witnessing the dismantling of her armor.

He brought her hands to his front, his instruction clear and she reached down. She willed her fingers to stop shaking long enough to undo his belt and release the button securing his trousers. Her fingers twitched as she was forced to slip his zipper down, her breathing coming out ragged and stuttering. He groaned like an animal once her fingers brushed against his skin, freeing him from the confines of his undergarment.

“You are an exceptional creature,” he muttered, running his calloused hands from her neck down to the tops of her thighs. “Where did they find something like you? Surely not from the convents.”

Phryne swallowed the bile that had risen to her throat, blinking back tears and removed her hands from his lower half. She tried not to get sick all over the man, too afraid to make him angry and trigger a more vicious encounter. This was already going to be a violent assault without question and the man who intended to rape her spoke to her as if he was a lover worshipping her body. It was vile and far crueler than if he had just used brute force and gotten it over with and taken what he wanted from her.

He ripped at her skirt, plunging the knife into the fabric that restricted her movements and pushed her thighs apart the moment she was free. He ripped the rest all the way down with bare hands, the harsh sound of destruction filling the quiet room. He looked down appreciatively at the matching French knickers that peeked underneath the pile of torn black silk. He grabbed her right leg, pulling her flush to him, tilting her body upwards and she did not fight him, grabbing on to his waist for balance. He rubbed his bare manhood against silk, his want far too evident and demanding. Then he bent down, running his mouth against her skin, his breath hot on her neck.

“Delicious…what a waste of such beauty,” his tongue tasted a strip of skin. He grunted, pushing the fabric all the way down her shoulders and off her body. He pulled back and showed her how his eyes had darkened with desire, his skin flushed and his breath coming out in ragged puffs. He looked like a hungry animal who was only moments away from satiating its overwhelming hunger. “I could keep you.”

Before her mind dould anticipate what he might do next, he bent down once more and did not hesitate to sink his teeth into the flesh of her right breast. His hands dug into the flesh of her right thigh, dropping his knife on the ground as he anchored her to him, giving her no means of escape.

Phryne gasped, a sob stuck in her throat and her left hand dropped from his waist while the other grabbed onto his arm for support. He bit into her skin like it was a succulent piece of fruit, teeth sinking into flesh and muscle and she swallowed the scream that almost exploded from her lips. She flailed slightly, her eyes filling with tears from the pain and her legs began to tremble then clamped tightly around his hips.

Her shaking hand slipped up her thigh, tremors in her fingers as she gripped onto the top of her stocking. His jaw seemed to release slowly and his teeth retracted from her flesh just as a tongue slipped out to run along the once pristine alabaster skin now left damaged. He looked down on his work, noting the angry bright red indentations he left on her which only seemed to feed into his desire and he brought his mouth back onto her body, latching on to the side of her neck as his tongue tasted her skin once more. French perfume invaded his senses, leaving him heady with intoxication and violence, blood thundering in his ears.

Phryne’s hand curled into a tight fist beside her while her other hand held on to his arm, hanging on but not fighting. She used him for leverage, keeping herself upright as his hair brushed along her chin, trying to ignore his disgusting need wantonly rubbing against her core. It was only a flimsy piece of fabric that kept him from completion of the assault though he seemed intent on prolonging this encounter. He was too caught up in tasting her flesh and grabbing at her breast and hips to notice much else, enjoying the taste and the pressure building in his body. 

Flooded with shame, mortification and disgust, Phryne kept herself from falling apart, pretending he wasn’t so close to fulfilling his ungodly need to defile her body and she wasn’t the one allowing it to simply happen. Her chest heaved as she swallowed a lungful of air and she closed her eyes, biting her bottom lip until she nearly broke skin and raised her tightly fisted knuckle and swiftly brought it in a downward arch.

She kept her eyes shut tight when she felt her hand plunge right into his neck and he stilled against her. She pulled back immediately, feeling a warm spray against her skin and plunged down once more. He let out a grunt, this one pained and held none of the pleasure from earlier, staggering back and pushed her away from him viciously but she braced herself against one hand on the surface underneath her. Phryne released him from her hold, loosening her legs from his hips and her hand falling away from his arm, finally opening her eyes just in time to catch him stagger back against the wall, his hand on his neck and his white singlet rapidly turning red.

“Wha…” he looked down on his hand, as if failing to comprehend what was happening to him. Then he looked at her and her crimson soaked hand, noting the small bloody dagger from between her fingers. “You-you—”

He rushed at her, hand outstretched and clamped around her throat, staining her skin and her camisole with blood, hate in his fading eyes. Letting out a surprised cry, she grabbed his wrist, knocking it away from her windpipe but he staggered back against her, the blood loss now rendering him weaker by each quickly passing second. He slumped onto her, his body folding like a puppet cut from its strings and Phryne did all she could to push him off of her, flinching when his blood smeared against her torso, her arms and her upper thighs.

The camisole she wore was now a helpless mess of blood, her knickers no better and the stockings from where she had procured her hidden dagger were sticky with congealing blood. She sat on that table, her thighs apart and her hand still clutching the weapon. Slumped back against the wall, he kept his eyes on her, accusing and hateful to the end, as his heart pumped out weakly what little blood it could still expel. She watched him fade, her own chest heaving and her body quaking like a leaf in a storm, her golden shoes hanging off the ground that was slowly pooling with the dying man’s blood.

Once she knew he was finally gone, Phryne let out a strangled sob and began to cry.

o0o

She had no concept of time and she didn’t know how long she stayed in the room.

There was no sound other than her tears and the stuttering breaths that escaped her trembling lips. She hung on to her dagger like a lifeline, trying to find some semblance of calm to bring herself back. But the tears came and the painful throbbing in her brain increased and some part of her didn’t want to be stepping on the blood of the man she had just murdered. Her arms tightened around her shaking body, holding herself together as best she could. She couldn’t escape from the smell, the metallic scent hanging heavily in the enclosed space. What had she done? Her soul felt split open and raw, her mind reeling at the implications of her actions. Her neck was still sticky with his saliva and his blood, her breast aching from where he mercilessly tore into her flesh.

She had taken a life.

Not in defense of her life, not to prevent her own death—she had outright murdered a man who scared her. She had looked into his eyes, found no soul and it terrified her beyond measure. She had never seen evil before, not even in Murdoch Foyle who was more deluded than an actual cold-blooded killer. She had killed a man she knew took pleasure in inflicting pain and taking lives, an evil far more than anything she could ever imagine. She took his life without hesitation, killing with such precision that in the aftermath, she scared herself.

Phryne’s mind seemed to splinter, trying to cope with the assault and the killing, the two parallel yet still quite separate events rendering her almost immobile. The trauma immediately set in faster than the spilled blood could dry on her silk undergarments and her body shivered not from the cold around her but from within, rattling her bones and freezing her veins. Her eyes drifted to the ground and she felt bile rise to her throat when she saw the crimson pool under her feet, her golden shoes a stark contrast to the deep red. Swallowing a panicked scream, she scrambled up further on the table, pulling her stocking-clad legs up and folded them against her torso. She wrapped her arms around them, curling tightly in a ball and her eyes glazed as she stared out into nothingness.

She didn’t hear the commanding call from the other side of the door or the thundering slams of a fist against wood. Whoever was on the other side was impatient and when they were finally able to come through, they were greeted by the grisly sight. There was a girlish scream and a sound of someone cursing but Phryne did not notice any of it.

In her state, she also failed to recognize the familiar visage of another man, holding a terrified young girl in his grip, her hair wrapped around one fist and tears streaming down her face. He dragged the simpering girl with him, cursing loudly as he stepped over the blood and approached the still form of the woman on the table.

“What the hell have you done?” he thundered at her, but she didn’t even blink, staring blankly into nothing.

A hand was raised and swiftly brought down, much like she had done her own, and an open palm smacked straight across her cheek. The force of the blow knocked her off balance, jarring her from her near-catatonic state, sending her sprawling on the table and barely missing falling right off of it.

Phryne looked up, startled and looked up in surprise when she was finally able to focus her attention on the person who saw fit to strike her. Her blue eyes widened, horror flooding her senses as she gasped out, “Fletcher?”

“What have you done?” he growled, still holding the strange girl’s hair in his fist. “You stupid cow! What have you done? You’ve killed him!”

Holding her cheek with a shaking hand, Phryne looked from the blubbering girl and the man she had been working with for the last few weeks. Sidney Fletcher was from her aunt’s circle, generous and always ready to assist. He was Rosie Sanderson’s fiancé, the future son-in-law of the Deputy Chief Commissioner of Police and the son of one of the richest families in Victoria. Her mind reeled, trying comprehend this turn of events, her fracturing mind trying to cope with what she was being faced with.

Then she remembered Joan’s story, the two men she heard talking from the party. Fletcher had been at the party with his future father-in-law and his fiancée. Phryne was left breathless by this, could barely cope with the idea that this man was the employer of the person she had just killed, but who else could he be? Why would he be on this god forsaken ship? Why else would he be so upset at the vile man’s demise, holding a girl captive like she was nothing?

Phryne’s heart stopped, looking at the helpless girl and she sat up gingerly, uncurling her body and ignored the aches she felt from her face to the rest of her. Fear ran through her but there was also a touch of defiance. Sidney Fletcher had struck her and had, most likely, been responsible for her abduction and her assault. He had been the one to order for her destruction, thrown into the ocean like trash to simply be forgotten. 

She kept her small dagger in her hand and she slowly eased down on the table, uncaring now how the crimson pool stained her golden shoes. She stood in front of him, covered in blood and dressed in nothing but French silk undergarments. A deathly stillness came through her, quieting her mind and bringing an eerie quiet into her soul.

“Mr. Fletcher, what an unexpected surprise,” Phryne said in an even tone. “I’m afraid you’ve caught us at a bad time though no proper introductions were made. Would you care to enlighten me on the identity of this poor man?”

“He’s the captain of this ship, you stupid bitch,” Sidney snarled, getting right in her face. “What did you—”

Phryne moved quickly, rushing the man without warning and swiped the dagger onto his upper arm, forcing his hand to release the girl he had in his grip. He let out a grunt and she pushed him against the wall, punching him in the throat then left him to drop gracelessly on top of the captain’s corpse. She grabbed the crying girl by the hand and slammed the door to the cabin shut, practically flying down the narrow set of stairs and looked around frantically. The place was suspiciously empty for a ship that had been so full of activity.

“Where did you just come from?” she asked the girl, turning to her desperately. “Did you just get on the ship?”

“Yes!” she gasped desperately. “They snatched me off the street!”

“Which way did you come from? We have to get out!”

“There were people everywhere! We’ll never make it!”

Phryne tugged at her hand, “We have to try or we will die on this ship!”

They heard Fletcher scream from the other side of the door above them. 

Desperate, she looked into the girl’s eyes, “What’s your name?”

“Bernadette,” the girl hiccupped. “I’m Bernadette.”

“She had her miracles,” she muttered, remembering old lessons long forgotten. “I will get you out of here, Bernadette, alright? Show me where and I promise you will get out of here. Do you swim?”

“Yes!” the girl nodded, wiping at her cheeks. 

“But you need to show me the way! Come on!”

“Y-yes, alright. Yes! This way!”

She dragged Phryne with her just as the door to the cabin was ripped open. Fletcher screamed for his men, yelling about escaped girls and getting them back. Phryne pushed Bernadette, following her as she led the way. She heard thundering steps behind her, knowing who it could be and she pushed on. Her heels thundered down the steel floors, providing enough traction to avoid slippage as she kept up with the young girl.

Voices suddenly filled the air, men yelling at each other, footfalls exploding all around them. They almost went down one hallway but the tall shadows of approaching men warned them off that path. Bernadette let out a strangled scream and Phryne clamed a hand over her mouth, without thinking, dragging her away and hiding them both in a dark corner. Steps thundered past them, just where they had been standing and angry voices floated by.

Crouching low, Phryne held on to Bernadette, pressing her into the wall with her body and slowly pulled back once it was quiet once more. Her mind reeled at the possibilities, weighing the odds quickly and understanding the inevitable end to this bid for freedom. She let out a breath, swallowing heavily and looked down on her blood covered hands. Even in the darkness, she could easily spot the ring on her finger and a lump formed in her throat.

“Bernadette,” she whispered quietly, her voice quaking in the dark corner. “Listen to me.”

She slipped the ring out of her finger, the metal releasing easily and she picked up the girl’s hand and placed the piece of jewelry in her palm. The girl’s eyes widened, fear and uncertainty on her face.

“I need you to listen…” Phryne began. “Wait, what day is it?”

Bernadette seemed baffled by the question, “It’s-it’s almost morning, miss. Wednesday morning.”

“I’ve only been here a few hours,” Phryne said in wonder, unable to comprehend it had only been mere hours since their abduction. She shook off the cobwebs, forcing herself to return her focus on the moment. “I need you to take this ring—don’t lose it. Go straight to the City South Police Station. Do you know where that is?”

“It’s not far from where I work…the Federal Hotel,” she answered shakily. 

Phryne nodded, “Good. Okay. Go to the police station and when you get there you ask for Inspector Robinson. Say it for me, come on.”

“Inspector Robinson?”

“Yes, yes,” she whispered, her eyes filling with tears though she hoped the girl would not see it in the darkness. “Don’t let them take you anywhere else. You go to Inspector Jack Robinson and give him this ring. He’s the only one who will help and he will help. Trust nobody but him. Do you understand, Bernadette?”

“Why can’t you tell them? You—”

“I promised I would get you out and I will,” she answered, shushing the girl just as another set of thundering men roared by. “But I can’t get us both out of here. So I need you to wait for the right time—I will lead them away and you make your escape, alright? Do not stop, do not look back. Find Inspector Robinson. He is your only chance.”

“But what about you? I can’t leave you, I—”

“You’ll go,” Phryne said firmly then softened her voice. “There is another girl…I can’t leave her. “

“Is it Joan?”

“You know Joan?” Phryne asked, surprised. 

“In the motorcar—when they took me from the hotel I found Joan’s glasses,” she whispered, shaking from the memory. “I knew it was hers. It was a sign!”

Phryne tried valiantly to keep her calm, “A sign?”

“Yes, I knew it was a sign to run!” Bernadette cried softly, letting out a shuddering breath. “I found Joan’s glasses—she can’t do anything without them, I knew something was wrong so I ran to the convent and asked for help but Perpetua—” she began to breathe heavier and cry. “She-she put me in that room and then she gave me to that man!” 

“Convent?” she echoed hollowly. “Perpetua? Is she a nun?”

“No…but she works with the nuns,” she answered quietly. “He gave her money…said she still owes him one because I wasn’t good anymore.”

Phryne closed her eyes tightly, absorbing the girl’s words and what it all implied. “That means there might be others.” She opened her eyes once more, looking at the girl intently, “So, I need you to get me the cavalry, alright? We need you, Bernadette. I promise I’ll still be here…but you will need to get help. Quickly. Say it again.”

“Say—oh, Inspector Jack Robinson,” the girl muttered. “City South—”

“—Police Station, yes,” Phryne smiled shakily, patting the girl’s dark hair soothingly. “I need you to be brave and quick. You run as fast as you can and get yourself out, alright? Find him. Tell him what you saw and what happened to you. Make him listen. He is the only one you can trust.”

“B-but what about you?”

Phryne blinked back tears and tried her best to smile in the darkness, “I’ll be fine. Just bring an army with you.”

o0o

It was still dark when her feet hit the ground running.

The young girl by the name of Bernadette whom the nuns named after the saint, ran until her lungs burned. She made it out of the port unseen, her heart in her throat. She had heard the voices of screaming men and of the loud commotion coming from the ship as she flew down the gangway, relieved to find it empty and that she wouldn’t need to swim after all. Her small pale fingers were curled tightly around the ring she had been tasked with, repeating the name of the copper she was supposed to find. 

_Inspector Jack Robinson, City South Police Station._

She repeated the name, title and his place of work over and over again like a calming mantra, her feet pattering along deserted roads just as the first light of the day started to make its appearance on the horizon. She did not look back, she did not stop, not even when she heard thunderous crashes from the ship. She wanted to go back for the woman who helped her escape, who may have saved her life, but she needed to save all of them. Not just her but Joan as well who would be absolutely terrified and helplessly blind without her glasses. 

Bernadette ran, remembering the prayers she had been taught, praying to God and Jesus to spare her, to help her move forward and fulfill her promise. She would find Inspector Jack Robinson at the City South Police station, give him the ring and tell him to bring an army and save the woman who risked her life to save hers. 

Terrified beyond reason and bordering on exhaustion from the endless terror of the night, she ran down familiar roads, hiding each time she heard a vehicle approaching and smothered her cries with her shaking hand. With tears streaming down her face, the young Bernadette ran until the bottoms of her feet began to bleed, praying endlessly to all the saints and wished for salvation and grace. She promised to come back, she promised to bring the inspector with her. She promised to save them. To bring an army.

By the time the girl made it to her destination, she was nearly dead on her feet, soaked with sweat and her shoes filled with blood. The desk sergeant stared at her, wide eyed and alarmed, as the girl stumbled in, shaking uncontrollably and half-conscious, barely able to stand. She clutched the ring tightly in her hand against her heart as she tried to speak, spittle dribbling down her chin. Delirious with exhaustion, she forced herself to stay upright as she clung to the polished wood of the front desk, repeating the words that were now burned into her mind.

“Inspec…Inspector J-Jack Rob-Rob…inson…she…Inspector Rob-Jack Rob-ins-son, she-help-Jack Rob—”

And then everything went black.

o0o

Dr. Elizabeth MacMillan was having a busy morning.

Three pregnant women coming in with complications, two cranial injuries and an emergency call from the City Morgue asking for her assistance promptly. It left her with little time to give to patients walking in and had to pass off her load to another colleague who, by her estimate, would probably end up working through lunch just to get through her patients and his. She made a mental note to make it up to the poor sod who was much too kind and readily took her favors on. She thought back to one of the nurses mentioning his wife liked sweet pastries. Mac smiled, deciding she could easily ask a certain kind hearted butler for a tin of sweeties easily.

She was walking briskly down the hall, intent on getting the first available taxi and get to the morgue as quickly as possible. Mac was beginning to wonder if she needed to reconsider her commitment to the city when she passed a familiar figure striding the opposite direction. Her eyebrows shot up, noticing how the stoic man seemed to keep him eyes downcast, surely missing her despite being merely a few feet apart.

“Jack?”

“Dr. MacMillan!” he stopped, looking up with the merest hint of surprise.

She glanced at the clock and noted the time, “Early start for you, isn’t it?”

“Late start actually,” he said, tilting his head to one side. “I received a call about a young girl who might have information. By any chance did you hear anything about that?”

“Young girl?” Mac echoed, curious. “Brought here?”

“I believe so,” he nodded. “Walked into the station, asked for me and proceeded to collapse. They couldn’t rouse her so they brought her here. Familiar?”

“’fraid not,” the doctor responded. “But maybe I can help? I still have some time and if anyone asks, you pulled me in for a consult so I am officially on duty for the city.”

“Sounds fair enough though this should teach me never to underestimate your tactics, doctor,” Jack smirked, motioning towards the hall he was headed. “By all means…lead the way.”

Mac smiled happily, matching strides with the detective as they moved down the hallway together. “Any idea what this might be about?”

“Not at all,” he answered honestly. “My desk sergeant didn’t know what to make of the girl. She came in, dripping with sweat like she’d just run a marathon and collapsed. She had this,” he pulled out a folded cloth from his pocket and revealed a gold ring with diamonds and a large emerald. “In her hand, clutching it as if her life depended on it.”

“This doesn’t look cheap,” she took the ring into her hand as they walked. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say they’re the real thing…a thief then?”

“Not sure but she was wearing a scapular though I’m afraid I’m not too familiar with those,” he shrugged. “I’ve got Collins on it. Who better to ask than the resident expert—Miss Williams?”

Mac nodded, amused though she kept on with her examination of the jewelry, “You do know your resources well.”

“That I do,” he said, glancing at her. “Anything strike your fancy?”

“Hmm…there’re inscriptions on this,” she muttered, squinting her eyes and looked closer on the inside of the gold band. “Uh…JP 1919. Not a lot to start with. Initials maybe?”

“We’re checking for any reports of stolen jewelry and as well as missing persons reported with those initials,” Jack said simply and took back the piece of evidence and returned it into his pocket safely. “Nothing’s come through yet so I’m hoping the girl might be able to tell us something.”

“If she’s regained consciousness,” Mac pointed out, directing him towards the women’s ward. A nurse moved to intercept, but the doctor waved her off and they approached the matron in charge of the ward and explained who they were looking for.

“Oh, that poor thing,” the older woman sighed deeply as she led the way, walking ahead of them to the very end of the large hall full of female patients in varying stages of health and recovery. “She woke up briefly but she was so terrified, we couldn’t understand a word she was saying.”

“Has she woken up since?”

“No, Dr. Hart said she needs rest and fluids,” the nurse replied. “We had to bandage her feet—they were sore and full of cuts and blisters…as if she was running for her life.”

“Well, considering how scared she seems to be, she might actually have been,” Mac said, glancing at Jack who nodded grimly in silent agreement. 

They reached the last bed in the back where a young girl was covered in a clean plain light sheet, her lips parched and her skin pale. There were small cuts in her fingers and there was a bruise on one side of her face. She looked troubled, even in sleep, as if she didn’t feel safe even in her own subconsciousness. Mac reached for the file she was being handed, scanning it quickly and noted the pertinent information.

“Severe dehydration, the aforementioned injuries to her feet, some defensive cuts in her hands and a clump of hair missing from one side of her head,” the doctor’s voice sounded as grim as the look on her face. “This girl’s been through the ringer.”

“Do you remember anything at all from what she said?” Jack asked the matron. “Anything at all?”

“Something about a ship and a name—Jack,” she said simply. “The rest…couldn’t understand a thing.”

“Well, she remembers your name,” Mac looked at the inspector curiously. “Not your rank. Your name. You don’t recognize her at all?”

“No,” Jack looked closely at the girl. She was quite young and pretty, despite the hell she’d obviously been through but he couldn’t recall ever encountering her. He didn’t encounter many young girls and she didn’t trigger any sort of memory. Still, it nagged at him how she knew his name. “Any chance of her waking up anytime soon?”

“That’ll be up to her,” the nurse nodded towards the sleeping girl’s direction. “But she’s exhausted. I wouldn’t hold my breath…I know your case might be important, detective inspector, but try not to wake the patient. She’s been through quite an ordeal.”

“I understand,” Jack nodded, understanding her concern and turned to Mac. “Anything?”

“They have her clothes,” she pointed out, noting the file. “Maybe you’ll find something there?”

“Can’t take that without a warrant.”

“I work for the coroner’s office,” she pointed out with a slight smirk. “And this hospital. I think we can work something out, don’t you think so?”

“You really are something, Dr. MacMillan.”

Mac smirked, “Well, don’t go screaming it from the rooftops. I have a reputation to uphold.”

Jack couldn’t help the grin that appeared on his face, “Your secret’s safe with me.”

o0o

It was a bright Wednesday morning when George Sanderson entered the halls of Russel Street.

The place was full of activity, as usual, but he strode in as if a man on a mission. People parted as he passed, not failing to miss the dark determination on the aging man’s face as he made a straight shot for the main office in the building. No one dared stop him, recognizing him immediately and his powerful gait. For a man who was showing no secret of his age, he looked formidable and ready to go to battle with full expectations of winning.

He barely glanced at the women seated outside, striding sure and fast, they barely had time to realize his intent before they could even attempt to stop him. He slipped through the double doors easily and closed them behind him with a quiet, final click. The man behind the desk looked up, a furrow on his brow and a thunderous look on his face. Chief Commissioner Reginald Hall had left specific instructions on his schedule for the day and he did not appreciate being disobeyed, especially not so early in the morning.

“Sanderson! What is the meaning of this? I’m busy,” he grumbled, looking over papers that had been sent over from stations under his jurisdiction. When he had taken the job, he really hadn’t realized how much paperwork it would entail. He was sure he would go to his grave with these damned pages still following his cold dead corpse. What a horrendous turn, he almost missed being shot at by dizzy criminals who couldn’t tell their arse from their elbows.

“I think it’s time we had a discussion, Hall.”

“You’ve picked a bloody ripe time,” he rolled his eyes at the man, barely tolerating his presence. He really could never tell what stick was rotting up the bitter old man’s arse. He never liked Sanderson or his high-handedness and losing out to him for the Chief Commissioner of Police position just made him worst over the years. “Schedule a proper meeting, won’t you? Like everybody else.”

“This isn’t something you want me delaying,” Sanderson said brazenly, taking the seat in front of the younger man’s desk, his teeth bared and practically snarling. “There is something in need of your immediate attention.”

The commissioner looked up from his paperwork, his attention piqued though it only added to his ire, “Stop speaking in riddles, man! What are you on about?”

Sanderson smiled pleasantly, which really was more terrifying than any bile he could spew out. A happy George Sanderson was no good for anyone except the man himself, “Not to pile on, but you’ll want to read this.”

He snatched the piece of paper that was placed in front of him, reading it quickly. It didn’t take long for his irritation to dissipate, his eyes growing wide and his skin turning pale as he took in the words. He looked across the table in disbelief, “Where did you get this?”

“Does it matter?” Sanderson rolled his eyes. “But you understand, don’t you, Hall?”

“This cannot get out,” he said, shakily. “Sanderson, you…you have daughters. Surely, you—”

“Oh, don’t try that on me, you pathetic simp,” the older man snarled viciously. “You know what I want. You know what you have to do.”

“If I don’t?”

“Then you’ll have one interesting morning tomorrow and I can guarantee—you won’t make it past your front door,” Sanderson looked particularly gleeful at the idea. “And her? She will never know peace. They’ll hound her—I’ll make sure they do.”

“You are utterly shameless, do you know that, you brazen fool?”

Sanderson held his head up, “It’s better this way. You were never fit for command.”

“And you are?” Commissioner Hall let out a barking laugh. “You don’t think I’d hand it over to you, just like that?”

“I do,” he nodded simply. “And if you were a smart man, you’d agree.”

His usual affable demeanor could not be found at all in this particular conversation, “I’m not about to let you hold this office hostage over some trivial—”

“Look at it closely, Reginald,” the deputy said in a bored tone, waving a dismissive hand. “That isn’t a fake although feel free to keep it. I have copies and, of course, a good father really should have one.”

A shadow passed over his eyes, “You bastard.”

“Seems rather appropriate for your progeny than myself, don’t you think?”

His cheeks went red with suppressed rage, “How dare you—”

“Oh, come now, Reginald,” Sanderson smirked. “You really didn’t think this was coming?”

“This is none of your concern—or anybody’s!” he hissed. “You ruddy bitter old arse.”

Sanderson didn’t at all seem to be bothered by the vitriol thrown his way as he looked around the room casually, “Can’t say I like what you’ve done with the place. I look forward to making appropriate changes.”

“You son of a—”

He seemed bored with the conversation and stood up, turning towards the doors once more, “I’ll pretend to be surprised when I’m informed of the news of your resignation.”

“You unconscionable bastard,” the stunned bureaucrat grit out. “You can’t get away with this!”

“I already have,” the older man responded casually. “Just be glad I’m giving you a chance to bow out gracefully. What a sorry mess this would be if you were to force my hand.”

Commissioner Hall was seething, “I’ll make sure you pay for this, Sanderson. How dare you bring this garbage into this office! You have daughters, you despicable piece of filth!”

“My daughters were born with honor,” Sanderson threw over his shoulder. “Can you say the same of yours?”

A piece of decorative glass flew from the large desk and the sound of glass shattering exploded into the hall just as the deputy commissioner strut out of the room in victory. The women outside jumped, surprised by the show of violence and the bursting tirade that thundered through.

“Goddamn you to hell!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are some possible discrepancies in terms of when Saint Bernadette was canonized and when the story takes place but since this particular detail of the story is canon on the show, I chose to keep it.


	13. Chapter 13

It was a normal day, as far as the household of Wardlow was concerned.

Tobias Butler rose at the usual hour of each morning and Dorothy Williams went about her day as she normally did. They shared a light breakfast together in the absence of their mistress and discussed plans for the coming weekend upon when their beloved Jane Ross would be coming home from school. They were planning a small but lovely get together amongst their little chosen family and plans were made on what food to prepare and what festivities were to be expected. Jane hadn’t been home in two weeks and she telephoned every other day to tell them how much she missed them and how school was coming along.

These kinds of days were quiet though a kind of rarity. Working for someone as adventurous as Phryne Fisher made mundane mornings as such quite the novelty which in itself even seemed to make days like that exciting as well. It was a surprise and still left room to wonder if the day would remain as calm and breezy or turn tumultuous and daring at the turn of a hat. Not that they minded, they would not trade working for the aristocrat for all the tea in China. Their mistress was one of a kind, beautiful, incredibly intelligent and so very generous. It was a colorful dream, working for someone as unique and as wonderful and neither the seasoned Mr. Butler or the delicately gentle Dot would trade the opportunity for anything. 

It wasn’t unusual for their mistress to be out at all hours and have her comings and goings be as unpredictable as her nature so they didn’t think twice when she did not come home for breakfast. Mr. Butler simply assumed she and her escort had chosen to stay at Rippon Lea and expected them to return sometime during the day. Dot, on the other hand, trusted the butler’s assessment and went about her chores, still happily riding the clouds from her lovely night with her beau. They tended to the gardens, baked some treats, answered the telephone, kept the to home and mended clothes and other odds and ends. 

By the time mid-morning came along, the red-raggers came through the backdoor, sniffing for the freshly baked goodness and seeking out the latest list of specialty items their employer would like them to procure—on the list no doubt would be scrumptious Russian caviar and electrifying French champagne. They knew her exotic and expensive tastes, which she did not apologize for and they did not question as long as they were given fair exchange for their work. So, in no time at all, both Cec and Bert were smiling along sipping freshly brewed tea and enjoying some spiced cookies straight from the oven. It was a good, slow morning, one which they all enjoyed in the safe haven of the red and white house on St. Kilda. 

After all, lazy mornings were such a rare treat that ought to be enjoyed in the best of times.

Unbeknownst to them, a different matter was brewing on the other end of town, at another house with its own set of household working for one Prudence Stanley. Surely the work there had higher demand and the expectations were unfailingly rigid and to be met with full marks. It was a different environment and a certain kind of personality was required to work in such a traditional grand home.

Early in the morning, inquiries were made amongst the staff if the clumsy girl from the night before that caused the minor ruckus had returned. They didn’t mind the girl so much but they did pity the poor thing, nearly blind from her affliction. Still, for what little faults she did have, she made up for in the kitchen which still astounded the resident cook—how interesting to see someone so young who came from so little have the most sophisticated and delicate palette that made her quite the wizard in the kitchen. He would hate to see the young girl go, never quite before witnessing their mistress taking such delight from something as simple as a flummery.

They also searched for the driver who took their employer’s niece home, the stunning maven with the most exciting and scandalous stories. They liked the lovely Miss Fisher who was always gracious and never quite so snappish like her firm-handed aunt. Her increasing stays in the large mansion had brought some lightness into the home it had not seen in years, not even when the eldest son still lived there. It was so much different having a young woman breathing life into the opulent halls of such a home. They were sure her presence also brought some noticeably gentler changes to their matron, noticing these days how she was favoring lighter styles that made her more youthful and less dour, finding her to be far more pleasant and easier to cater to. If there was some way to get Phryne Fisher to simply move into Rippon Lea, they would have conspired to do so months ago. 

It was hard to miss though, that the black Bentley that had been used to take the young aristocrat home had not made it back into the estate which also meant the driver had not returned as well. They had half a mind to consider calling her home but decided against it, choosing to wait to inform Prudence in case there were arrangements made without the household being informed. No one wanted to risk offending Prudence’s lovely niece. It wouldn’t be such a surprise, after all, if the Stanley matron had decided to lend the vehicle to her after her escort had to leave early the night before due to some emergency that required him to leave with her motorcar. 

The housekeeper had meant to confer with their employer regarding the borrowed vehicle, but Prudence left quite early that morning to meet some of the ladies in her club. She had a full schedule that day and belatedly informed her butler she would not be returning for lunch. She left with her driver in her favored green Studebaker, bidding her staff a hurried goodbye as she made her exit. No one remembered to inquire about the Bentley, the young Joan or the dearest Phryne Fisher. So the day went on and they waited, going about their day and did not think twice about the matter.

No one raised any concerns or considered any of the morning’s nonevents to be of note and most of them simply went on about their tasks. It was a normal day, as far as anyone was concerned. Rippon Lea still needed a more thorough cleaning after the party the night before and Wardlow was looking forward to the weekend, wondering how they would best spend the two days they would have all of the family together. No one thought twice about the minor anomalies, never for one second considering to raise the alarm. There was simply no reason to.

Because it really was just another day.

o0o

Jack Robinson couldn’t help but stare.

It sat in his drawer innocently, nestled on top a small brown envelope, glimmering ever so slightly in his sunlit office that bright morning. He did not know what it was about the damned thing other than he couldn’t seem to keep his eyes off of it. There was nothing too special about the ring, other than the fact that it was indeed made of genuine stones that probably cost more than a half a year’s worth of pay for him. The bright green emerald seemed to almost glow from within and wink at him, accompanied by its smaller though no less striking white diamond counterparts secured in place with precious gold. It was certainly stunning, surely a piece someone would miss. He wracked his mind, trying to understand what the connection could be between a young convent girl and a jewel so precious.

There was very little chance it would be an heirloom of the girl it was found with so he moved away from that portion of the investigation. His men were still on the streets, knocking on doors, inquiring about possible missing persons with the initials that might fit the inscription. They sent out inquiries to other stations, asking to be informed if someone should walk in looking for jewelry and to send them their way should it involve a missing ring. Jack held out hope, if only to figure out the case of the unconscious nameless girl in the hospital. 

It was the emerald that caught his attention, the deep alluring green reminding him of a set of altogether different though certainly unforgettable Colombian emeralds he had seen not too long ago. They were similar enough, they might as well have come from the same set though Jack knew that was impossible. Those had been genuine too and well loved by the owner though he tried hard not to stray too far into that particular train of thought. He would need to consult someone who knew these sorts of things to see if he could latch on to a trail that way. 

So busy was Jack contemplating the green stone that he missed Hugh’s quiet knock on his office door, leaving the poor chap to peek through meekly. It did little to quell his anxiety whenever he needed to do such things.

“Uh, sir?”

Surprised, he shut his drawer carefully and looked up, “Yes, Collins?”

“I was wondering if I could have a quick lunch? I know it’s early but Dottie came by with food and—”

He glanced at the clock on his wall, surprised to see the morning well on its way out. “Go ahead, Collins. I’m still expecting some evidence to arrive so you might as well eat before we need to head out. Anything from Miss Williams on that scapular?”

“Afraid not, sir,” Hugh replied weakly. “She said it won’t help—anybody could have it. She’s sorry she couldn’t tell you more but if you have anything else she says, er, she’d like to offer her assistance.”

“That’s very generous of her,” he pointed out. “You don’t look happy about that.”

“Just…it’s…” the younger man sighed and lowered his voice so as not to be overheard. “Dottie’s a sweet girl, sir. She means well, but what we see in our work…it’s not right for her to see such things.”

“She’s held up well, so far,” Jack said thoughtfully. “She’s a smart young woman, Collins. Don’t underestimate her. It never pays to underestimate women.”

“Of course not,” he nodded solemnly. “I just want to protect her, you know? This world…it can get ugly sometimes. I just don’t like the idea of Dot having to deal with any of it.”

“I think Miss Williams is aware of what kind of world we live in,” the inspector pointed out. “But I understand what you mean, Collins. It isn’t easy being with a strong, modern woman.”

Hugh’s eyes widened, “Modern woman? But Dotte isn’t…”

Jack raised an eyebrow, “She works for a very modern woman, Hugh. It’s bound to rub off.”

“Yes, but…they don’t do that anymore,” Hugh said, almost desperately. “But Dottie—she says she wants to help this girl because she’s Catholic but I really think she…misses it.”

Jack tried not to laugh at the fact that the young constable felt the need to whisper the last part as if it was some obscene secret. Sometimes, it really was a marvel at how far Hugh Collins has gone in his career next to Jack but days like this, it was a good reminder just how young he still was. 

“Don’t dwell on it, Collins, I’m sure Miss Williams is just concerned about the poor girl,” Jack said sagely, noting his constable’s obvious discomfort. “Go on and enjoy your lunch—mustn’t keep a lady waiting.”

Hugh perked up at the thought, glad to be distracted from his concerns. He turned to leave only to stop and give his superior a sheepish look, “Would, uh, would you like to join us, sir? There’s more than enough.”

“No, thank you, Collins,” Jack nodded towards his own lunch on the corner of his desk. “I’m quite covered. Thank you—you go on ahead with Miss Williams.”

“Yes, sir, I—” something seemed to catch his attention outside the door and Hugh paused, taking a look and excused himself and made a quick exit. After a moment, he reentered the office, this time carrying a large brown package. He was looking at it oddly, holding it in both hands. “Sir, this just arrived from Dr. MacMillan. They said you’d want it immediately.”

“Ah,” Jack stood up to receive the parcel and laid it on his desk. “I’ve been expecting this. Good of Dr. MacMillan to come through.”

“Mind if I ask what is it, sir?” Hugh asked, curious. 

The inspector carefully unwrapped the package, undoing the string and opened the layers of brown paper that had been used to wrap the contents. He spread it out over his desk, revealing a pile of dirty, gritty fabrics that looked like well-used worn clothing. Hugh’s eyes widened when his boss lifted one of them from the pile, inspecting it closely and noticed him turning the necks out slightly for a closer look.

“Uh, whose clothes are those, sir?”

“The girl from this morning,” Jack said simply. “Dr. MacMillan was kind enough to assist us in obtaining this from the hospital. We would have needed a warrant but since she’s a doctor there…well, it was easier. We need to find out that girl’s name and since she doesn’t seem inclined to wake anytime soon, this is our best option.” He picked up a smock, examining it for a moment before raising it to the light to look inspect it. 

“What is it, sir?”

“Looks like…something’s stitched here,” he showed Hugh for a moment, prompting the young man to move closer to the table. “That’s a cross…and some Latin—I think it says ‘grace of God’. I hate to add to your troubles, Collins, but I think we definitely need Miss Williams on this one.”

Hugh nodded solemnly, “Of course, sir. I understand.”

“I hate to bother your lunch—”

“We haven’t started yet,” a feminine voice broke through and both men looked up, surprised to see the lovely young woman by the door. They hadn’t heard her come in at all, a testament to her ever-evolving skills under the tutelage of her rather unusual employer and the sorts of tasks that came with her unusual job. “Anything I can help you with, Inspector Robinson?”

Jack gave Hugh a ghost of a smile and nodded at his inquiring sweetheart, “Why, yes, Miss Williams. You are just the person we need…might this jog something for you?”

Dot approached the table confidently, reaching with a gloved hand for the piece of clothing. She looked closely at it no more than a second before looking up at Jack in surprise, “This is the Magdalene Laundry mark from the Convent of the Sisters of the Holy Miracle.”

Jack’s curiosity was piqued, “You’re sure?”

Dot nodded, “Yes. We send the Fallen and Friendless girls our laundry every Monday.”

“The Fallen and Friendless girls?” Jack raised an eyebrow. “Sounds…interesting.”

Dot nodded in understanding, “The convent takes care of those girls who have nowhere else to go and they work to earn their keep. The money the convent earns from the laundry helps fund the institution.”

“Sounds reasonably legal enough,” Jack muttered. “Well, I suppose I’ll be heading that way then.”

Dot reached for the clothing on the table, looking through the pile carefully. She ran expert feminine hands along the fabric, not at all seeming to mind the obvious grime and mess that its wearer had been through. She tilted her head to the side, noticing something that immediately brought a frown upon her delicate features.

“What’s wrong, Dottie?” Hugh asked, curious. He had spent the whole exchange trying not to show his panic—he wasn’t sure what the story behind the girl was but he really didn’t enjoy seeing his beloved muddle around in such ugliness. He didn’t like any sort of evil or unkindness touching his beloved who really was too precious for the world.

“This is dried blood,” she showed the men, her bottom lip jutting out slightly. “Was she injured?”

“Her feet though there were some scratches on her face but nothing too serious that I could see,” Jack explained, tilting his head to the side to look at the evidence closely.

“I know dried blood, I’ve washed them off of Miss Fisher’s clothes often enough,” she ignored the panicked look that flashed on Hugh’s face at the mention of her mistress to his boss. “These don’t look like they’re from a small cut either. Where did she come from?”

“That’s what we’re trying to find out,” the inspector answered, examining what she found as well. “Though I might agree with you on that front…that is blood and not little of it.”

“Uh, sir, maybe this isn’t—”

“What’s this?” Dot said absently, pulling up a dress from under the pile. She pulled out a band of white fabric, squinting her eyes slightly as she read aloud, “Bernadette.”

Jack looked at Hugh whose eyes were as wide as saucers now and smiled appreciatively at the young woman, “I can’t imagine being given a clearer trail to follow than this. Thank you, Miss Williams, for your invaluable assistance. You’d give my best men a run for their money.”

“I’m glad to help, inspector,” she replied graciously. “I just hope you’ll be able to find out who that poor girl is and what was done to her.”

“Thanks to you, we just might,” he returned generously. “I’d offer you a spot in the constabulary but I’m afraid we’d send poor Collins here to an early grave.”

Next to them, the constable in question sputtered in surprise, “Oh, no, sir, not—you don’t—oh, no.”

Jack smirked, nodding towards the younger man with an amused knowing look on his face, “There it is.”

“But sir—!”

“You better feed him, Miss Williams,” he laughed under his breath as he grabbed his hat and his coat. “He’s starting to look a little green around the gills.”

“Sh-should I go—?”

“I can make this inquiry on my own, I’ll see you later, Collins. Have a good lunch!”

Once they were alone, Dot glanced at Hugh and tried not to laugh at the comical look on his handsome face. She patted his cheek affectionately and moved to exit the room ahead of him, “Come on, Hugh. Looks like you’ll need strength for today. There’s some lovely roasted chicken in the basket.”

Still quite stunned at the way his boss seemed to throw him mercilessly under the bus for his own amusement, Hugh could only nod and follow.

o0o

There was an air of reluctance from Mother Superior Aloysius when Jack came around for his inquiry.

He had made a stop at the desk to make a call to the Bishop to inform him of his case and where it led to. He was granted a temporary pass, giving him access for a day into the convent. Men were usually not allowed but for special cases such as this, officers of the law could be admitted for a short period. What Jack would not give for a female constable, he thought grimly as he strode down the sedate halls of the convent.

At the very end, the old woman who was running the institution stood waiting with a neutral look on her face, dressed in her holy vestments. She looked if a little distressed despite not having yet been informed of why the outsider had been permitted admittance into their hallowed halls. Jack wondered if perhaps his being male had something to do with it.

“Mother Aloysius,” he said with firm reverence, reaching out to shake her hand politely. “Inspector Robinson. The Bishop cleared my visit with you, I believe.”

“Ineed he has though I must say this is rather unusual, Inspector,” she answered solemnly. “We don’t usually admit male visitors here, you understand?”

Jack nodded and followed as she began to lead him further down the hall, “I do understand but under these circumstances, I think you would understand the exception needed to be made.”

He gave her a quick rundown of the reason for his visit, the barest bones so she would have some idea and hopefully help allay her concerns. She listened intently, absorbing the words though the emotions on her face were shifting.

Two women dressed in similar vestments awaited at the end of the hall with another one who was dressed in simple everyday clothing. Next to them, a young girl stood, dressed to leave with a careful but pleased look upon her youthful face. Jack stayed a few steps back, leaving them to discuss the girl’s departure as she had just been admitted into the services of a millinery. Mother Aloysius gave the girl her best wishes, complimenting her needlepoint and expected success. She was given a blessing before being granted her leave which she took happily, accompanied by one of the nuns.

“The police are here about a girl they found this morning,” the older woman told the remaining women. “They think it might be Bernadette.” She motioned to the plainly dressed woman with the wild curling hair, “Perpetua oversees all our programs that involve the girls. She was the last to see Bernadette last night.” She then moved his attention towards a plump nun with a displeased look on her face, “This is Sister Domica. She oversees the laundry program we run here in the convent.”

Jack shook hands with both women, nodding at them subtly. He could instantly feel he was unwelcomed and he couldn’t blame them. He was, after all, a snake in the garden. Or something worst.

“We are under the belief that we have found one of your girls,” Jack pulled out the white band of fabric with the name and as well as the scapular. “We think her name is Bernadette.”

“Oh, dear,” the mother superior said. “You did find her? Is she alright?”

“She has some injuries but she’s in hospital at the moment being tended to,” Jack responded. “They’re letting her rest and cannot see anyone for the time being so we’re trying to find out what may have happened to her.” He looked at the two women, “Do any of you happen to know Bernadette’s full name?”

“I’m afraid we don’t,” Mother Aloysius answered. “She came to us as an orphan some years ago now and we named her after the saint.” She looked troubled for a moment, “She went missing last night. She was working at the Federal Hotel and as far as we knew, doing quite alright but she came home last night in a state.”

“About what?”

Perpetua answered, “She was hysterical, talking about how she felt the work she was being made to do was beneath her. I couldn’t calm her and I didn’t want her to wake the whole dorm so I put her in a room to sleep…I was sure she was fine but by the time morning came, she had disappeared.”

“Only to end up with the police and in hospital,” there was a note of disapproval in Sister Domica’s tone. “Girl was usually good but last night she was a right handful.”

Jack thought there probably weren’t many things that this particular nun would approve of though he wisely kept his observations to himself. He kept his attention on the meek Perpetua, “You said you put her in a room?”

“Yes, the Penitence Room,” she offered then looked to Mother Aloysius. “I can take you there.”

The older woman nodded and turned to Jack, “I do hope it is her, Inspector Robinson. We would be bereft if anything happened to one of our good girls.”

“I’ll do what I can,” he offered kindly, giving her a respectful nod and followed the two women as they led him away, leaving the troubled older woman in the empty hallway. He didn’t bother dwelling on the fact that she only seemed concerned about the well-being of their good girls. 

Jack was taken straight through the back of the convent and through the laundry room where he immediately took note of the poor working conditions and the miserable looking girls who were being made to wash tons of strangers’ laundries. Most of them looked frail and thin, covered in perspiration and looking ragged and dehydrated from the oppressive heat of the massive room. The smell of soap hung in the air as steam flowed through everywhere, making the heat feel much heavier and the air much denser. If this convent weren’t protected by the church and exempt from the law, Jack would have arrested the women in front of him for breaking child cruelty laws.

Simply walking through the room left Jack winded despite his rather fit form and he could only imagine how horrifying the conditions were to the young women stuck there working for hours on end. It made no sense, for an institution built on preserving the grace of God and these young women only to turn around and exploit them. He was sure there was no way these girls were being paid wages either. Once they were out of the back of the building and into the sun, Jack couldn’t help but take a lungful of air. 

He caught Sister Dominica giving him a look which he returned, still holding his tongue but unable to help the slight glare he gave the woman of God. He found little reason to respect someone capable of such cruelty and do so brazenly while spouting religious dogma. 

“This is where I put her for the night,” Perpetua said over her shoulder, taking out a set of keys from her pocket. She had led them to a structure removed from the building, something like a shed with a brown door. “I couldn’t have her waking the other girls so she was made to sleep here. This is our Penitence Room.”

She opened the door for Jack only to reveal and obviously heavily pregnant girl sitting on the edge of a bed with a mutinous look on her face. She stepped aside to let the girl pass, “Back to work now, Ada. You’ll take over from Agnes on the mangle.”

“My favorite job,” the girl muttered bitterly.

“And remember to beg the Lord’s forgiveness for your wicked and ungrateful attitude,” for the first time, the inspector noticed a slight edge of tone on the woman’s voice. 

“If I do, do you think he’ll start paying us wages?”

“Ada. Go.”

The girl practically stomped her way out of the room, pregnant wobble and all. She gave the woman defiant look, “My name is Mary!”

“You’re not fit to kiss the Holy Mother’s feet,” Sister Dominica sneered from behind Jack. “Let alone share her name.”

The girl looked thunderous for a moment and looked as if she were ready to speak but she stopped herself. She pushed past the women and Jack, checking him sharply on the arm. He stood aside, watching her go and wondered how someone in such a condition would hold up in that laundry room.

Jack looked at Perpetua, “Should she be doing such harsh labor…in her condition?”

“Everybody does their part in the house of the Lord,” the woman replied serenely. “If it is God’s will for a child to be born, then the child will be born. There is no force stronger than God.”

He swallowed a sarcastic response that would surely get him ejected from this place, “So, they don’t get paid wages? These girls doing the laundry.”

“They’re blessed to live in the house of God, Inspector,” she almost seemed amused by this, tilting her head to the side as she spoke to him. “No one gets paid here.”

Jack swallowed the urge to start shaking some sense into these women. The more he lingered in this place, the more he felt the urge to wash it all off of his body. The place was vile and unrepentant, which only seems amplified considering it was supposed to be holy ground and a haven for lost children. Instead, he walked past the woman and into the room, noting the small window, the hard bed and the pile of fabric on one side of the room. He walked towards it, noting the knots and how the sheets were tied together. He gave Perpetua an inquiring look.

“Those were hanging from the window,” Perpetua said simply. “We assumed that’s how she got out.”

“What’s on the other side of this,” he motioned towards the wall where the tall window was, taking a rough estimate of the girl he had seen at the hospital. If he was remembering her size, then he could imagine she would have fit alright in that small window. How she got up there was another matter altogether but Jack wasn’t one to underestimate what sheer will and determination could accomplish. 

“The river bank, as it happens,” she seemed rather happy to announce this to him. “She probably made her way down and swam out.”

Jack nodded, picking up the sheets that were obviously tied together. “She used these…you’re sure?”

Perpetua nodded, “Yes. I found those early this morning. Before prayers.”

He gave her a long look before nodding and looked around the room, his hands in his pockets. “Would you be so kind to gather the girls? I’d like to talk to them about Bernadette, ask a few questions.”

“They’re busy…try not to keep them too long,” Sister Dominica muttered, giving him a dark look and shook her head at him, as if daring him to speak before turning her back on him and returning to the laundry room.

“Sister Dominica takes her responsibilities very seriously,” Perpetua said after a moment. “I’ll assist her in gathering the girls. Would you like to—”

Jack shook his head calmly, barely sparing the woman a glance. “I think I’ll stay here for the moment, look over a few things, if that’s alright? I’ll be right with you.”

She nodded and left, leaving him in the empty, harrowing room. Jack looked around, trying to imagine being locked in there and went back to the pile of knotted sheets. He picked it up and examined it closely, raising his eyebrows once he realized his initial assessment had been on point. His eyes darkened, adding the sheets to a mental list that was steadily growing in the back of his mind. He walked the short length of the room, one side then the next, glancing at the window above his head. A girl could fit there, he was sure but he didn’t think for one second Perpetua’s assessment of Bernadette’s escape was anywhere near close to being correct.

Jack reached one side of the room, noting another bed piled with rolled up thin mattresses and looked at the small carvings on the walls. Most were small things influenced by religion without a doubt, one being an exceptionally large crudely carved crucifix. Near the lower portion of the wall was something entirely different and out of place for more than a few reasons. 

“112 De Vere,” he read aloud, kneeling down on one knee to examine the carving. It looked fresh, cleaner and more recent than the others. The edges still felt sharp, not yet touched with the weathering of time. “Now who—”

“What’re you doing?”

Jack almost jumped out of his skin and he stood up, covering the carving behind him like a guilty little boy caught doing something he ought not to. The girl from before had returned, slipping through the door and hiding behind the wall beside it, pressing herself against the wall as if she could hide her impressive size while she carried her child in her body. It was almost comical.

“You,” he breathed, trying to calm his racing heart. “Never sneak up on a police officer.”

“Or what? You’d shoot a pregnant girl?” she smirked, laughing a little before sobering up. “What’re you snooping about for?”

“Nothing,” he said, giving her a stern look. “Shouldn’t you be gathering with the others?”

“You know I practically live here,” she raised an eyebrow at him. “I know every inch of this god forsaken room. I know what you were looking at.”

Jack sighed, “What’s…Ada, right?”

“Ma-ry,” she practically snarled. “My name is Mary.”

“Why did they change your name?” he asked then stopped, remembering the tense exchange.

“They change everyone’s names when they come here,” Mary said dully. “After saints? It’s silly.”

Jack had to agree, “You said you practically live here? Because of your condition?”

“No, I put Epsom salts in the nun’s tapioca pudding,” she said simply as if it was all matter of fact then gave him a wicked grin. “They had the shits for weeks!”

He schooled his features into neutrality though he almost did laugh. He needed to maintain his professionalism. He could recognize the fire in the girl, the absolute refusal to have the light in her killed, despite her circumstances. Jack could appreciate that, recognizing the firebrand that she was to be very easily.

“Did you see Bernadette last night?”

The girl immediately clammed up, shrinking back against the wall slightly, hunching her shoulders.

“I know you don’t want to talk to the police but…Bernadette’s been hurt badly by people we need to find,” Jack said, taking a step back from her to avoid crowding her in the small room. “I’m trying to understand what happened to her and who might want to hurt her.”

“She came home very late last night…out of her mind and Perpetua was having a fit,” Mary mumbled, glancing past the door to make sure no one could hear. She looked terrified now, having lost all the bravado from earlier. “She was bawling like a baby, telling Perpetua not to let him get her.”

“Did she say anything else?”

“Something about a man outside the hotel where she works—and a fancy black motorcar,” she added hurriedly. “She wasn’t making much sense but she was terrified out of her mind…she also said something about Joan.”

“Joan?” Jack frowned. “Who’s Joan?”

“They were best friends before Joan ended up working for some rich battleaxe who took a shine to her cooking,” Mary she smiled a little then shrugged. “We haven’t seen her since.” She crept past the door and across to where Jack stood, moving around him carefully and sat down on the edge of the bed then pointed at the carving on the wall, “That one’s new…it wasn’t there last night so I thought Bernadette might’ve left it before she disappeared.”

Jack nodded, “It would seem to be the case.”

She stood up, turned and pushed the bed before Jack could think to do anything and plopped back down, reaching low on the wall where she easily pulled out a loose brick from the wall. She pulled it out with a quiet grunt and took out what looked to be a pair of glasses with considerably thick lenses.

“This has to be Joan’s…we used to call her four eyes,” Mary said quietly. “She was the nuns’ pet here until she left to go work for that rich woman.”

“Was she a friend of yours?” Jack asked, examining the broken pair of glasses. On one side of the loose lenses were faint scratch marks with some debris. Easily enough, he surmised these were what Bernadette had used to carve her message on the wall.

“Hardly knew her,” the pregnant young girl said dully. “They keep the good girls from us bad eggs. We aren’t allowed to mix with them in case we corrupt them with our wickedness.”

“Seems…extreme,” the inspector muttered. “Anything else you can remember from last night?”

“Perpetua…she was up and about early,” Mary said, frowning slightly. “I was given reprieve because of Bernadette and I hadn’t slept in the dorms for weeks…but I kept on peeing,” she gestured towards her stomach glumly. “I saw her when I got up…she was sneaking off somewhere. It was dark…but she was walking about. Don’t know why. She had the keys with her.”

“Keys?”

“The bunch she carries around,” she answered. “She was dressed like she was going out. I thought it was odd but I had to pee…and she would have been nasty if she found out I got out of bed.”

Jack frowned, “To use the lavatory?”

“We aren’t allowed out until morning,” she mumbled, her cheeks pinking slightly. “But they would have given me a right walloping if I had an accident.”

Jack sighed, swallowing the urge to shake some sense into these extraordinary women of God once more.

o0o

He couldn’t remember a more frustrating moment in recent memory.

After leaving the convent with little to go on from the girls who were gathered from the laundry room, Jack left to see if he would finally be able to speak to the girl who was the source of all the confusion. Mary had been the only one to paint a proper picture for Jack to go on, which only made him more eager to circle back to Bernadette and the mystery that surrounded her. He went straight to the hospital, intent on getting much needed answers to have a better understanding of what exactly he was dealing with and why she had been so insistent on speaking to him.

Nearly half the day gone and with nothing much to go on except a first name, a vague message on the wall and a pair of broken glasses, Jack was about ready to start shaking trees for answers. He had actual active cases waiting for him at the station and this one was barely a legitimate case without the girl’s cooperation. All he had to go on was an expensive ring with no owner or claimant, sitting quietly in his desk. If he had to go by procedure, all he had to do was log it into evidence and wait if someone came along asking for it. Otherwise, that was it. The girl would have to be returned to the convent if she had nothing significant to offer or if this turned out to be nothing more than a lark. On top of that, he was sure he would look the fool who spent half of a work day running around chasing after a phantom on company hours.

Upon arriving at the hospital after lunch, he was met at the door of the women’s ward by the matron. She had a grim look about her that left him fearing the worst. He held his breath, waiting for the blow.

“I’m afraid you’ve arrived too late, inspector,” the matron said with a tinge of regret. “She awoke late this morning and spoke to one of our nurses briefly.”

“And?”

“She threw a fit, talking about the Melbourne Port and needing to leave,” she paused, giving him a pointed look and a sharp eyebrow. “To find you. She insisted it was a matter of life and death.”

Jack frowned, “I was at the convent. Did nobody think to contact me?”

“One of my nurses called your station and they said they will be the one to contact you and pass on the information,” she responded. “We thought they would follow through with a clear understanding that this is a serious matter. Am I to assume correctly you were not contacted?”

“No, I wasn’t,” the inspector said through gritted teeth. “But I’m here now. Can I speak with her?”

“I’m afraid that is not at all possible,” she paused for a moment, hesitating. “You see, after the nurse returned from making that phone call…the girl had disappeared. We checked the entire building. She vanished.”

“How does a hospital lose a patient?”

“She’s a young woman with full use of her extremities,” the matron huffed. “We have other patients too. Her feet were looked after and dressed. There was nothing to stop her from leaving short of tying her to the bed.”

“Did she say anything else about the port?” Jack asked, trying to rein in his temper. This was turning out to be quite a trying day and he found himself losing patience on the matter of this childish game of hide and seek.

“She was crying about a woman on a ship—she said she needed help and she was covered in blood,” the matron said slowly, her face taking on a rather perturbed look. “I think she’s been into those penny dreadfuls.”

Jack sucked in a breath, trying to make sense of the things he was being told, “So…a ship with a woman covered in blood. In the Melbourne Port?”

“From what my nurses reported, yes,” she nodded firmly. “Surely, this is just some childish game, inspector? The girl is probably just having her bit of fun.”

“Those cuts on her feet say otherwise,” the inspector returned. “If she comes back, please contact me. I’ll need to speak with my men.”

“If you do find her,” the older woman started, looking worn. “Please tell her to return…those cuts will need new dressings. She might be a handful but we do care for our patients here.”

“I’ll be sure to mention that,” Jack said dryly and turned to leave.

There was a strong urge to find a door and slam it but he fought against the instinct. Instead, he focused his ire on whoever had failed to inform him of the call from the hospital. Jack Robinson was usually a very patient man but he had little tolerance for laziness and incompetence. If he ever found the fool who failed to make the notification, he was sure he would be filing for a transfer to the wrong end of town if the lad didn’t wise up and leave on his own. His patience could only last so long and after spending the morning hoofing about, he was running on empty.

It was one thing to follow evidence, now they had gone and lost the girl who held the key to it all. What it all was, he still wasn’t sure. But that was not the case now. There still was not a legitimate case and now with a girl who had every right to go and disappear and had actually done it the night before, had gone and done the same thing once more. Jack knew, by all instinct and training, he needed to let it go, but he simply couldn’t. Was it because the girl had asked specifically for him? Was it the ring? Was it the mystery and the chase? Well, he wanted to believe it was all of it. Jack needed answers, curious as he was, and he wanted to know exactly what was going on and what it had to do with him. So crack on, he would. She was still a missing child who might possibly have seen something horrendous, that counted for something.

Now, where to find Bernadette—that was an altogether different matter.

o0o

It was mid-afternoon by the time Jonathon Lofthouse parked the Hispano Suiza in front of the home on St. Kilda.

The gate had been left open, which was unusual but he paid it no mind, too focused on getting inside and seeing Phryne and making his thousand apologies for taking too long. His plane had incurred damage during the break in and there had been discussions made with the onsite mechanic. The crack on the tail and the slight dent on the wing could easily be replaced and repaired, something they could do quickly for a good price which he agreed to but he also closed the deal on finding someone to purchase the bird from him. Jonathon wasn’t overly superstitious but he was also not the kind who would bet his life. He would rather sell the Tiger Moth and make a little bit of profit than risk flying it after sustaining damage. He had seen some ghastly accidents take place from unchecked wings or cracked tails, he wasn’t about to risk being one of those chaps.

He also planned to take Phryne flying with him, which he had been thinking of doing using his silver plane but not anymore. Her Tiger Moth was truly well kept and well oiled, thanks to some blokes on the government airfield she finagled her way into. He would find another plane if it came to it, but he wasn’t going to play fast and loose if he was planning on taking her with him.

Pushing the gate open and heading up the steps that led to the entrance of the beautiful Wardlow house, he stopped short when the door flew open to reveal both Mr. Butler and Dot awaiting his arrival. On a normal day, he wouldn’t probably wonder so much to such a heavy welcome, but the looks on their faces sent alarms blaring through him. There were deep worried creases on the old man’s forehead and his face while the young lady with him just seemed outright troubled and a little harried. Jonathon willingly handed over his coat, noting the abused piece of cloth in Dot’s hand, barely recognizable now from the well-pressed handkerchief it had been that morning.

“What’s the matter?”

“Mr. Lofthouse, we were just wondering,” Dot bit the inside of her cheek, pausing her a moment. Her brow furrowed and the corners of her lips twitched a little, “…is Miss Fisher with you?”

Jonathon frowned, “No. I left her at the party last night—the emergency at the airfield, Mr. Butler?”

“Yes, sir,” the older man nodded, looking grave. 

“Phryne insisted I go and check on my plane, I—” he stopped, looking around the hallway and walked into the front parlour then back into the dining room across. “Where’s Phryne?”

“See, that’s what we’re wondering, sir,” Dot said worriedly. “Mrs. Stanley called…she was looking for Miss Fisher. We thought you both spent the night at Rippon Lea. When we told her, she—” she flinched a little at that. “She said she’d been waiting for her driver to return. He drove Miss Fisher home last night with one of the scullery maids, Joan. They-they never came home.”

“You haven’t seen Phryne since last night?” Jonathan’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Surely she would have called if she was going to be delayed?”

“Not always, sir,” Dot mumbled. “We thought you…we thought you were together.”

“I was at the airfield,” he said, looking up at the staircase. He pushed past the worried members of the household and bolted up the steps, taking them two at a time until he made it to the second floor of the home. He took large strides, pushing her bedroom door open, holding his breath.

“Phryne?”

Jonathon was expecting her to be waiting somewhere in the room, to welcome him with a smile and tease him about his disheveled state. He spent the night mucking about under different planes and sleeping in dingy quarters that had probably never had a woman’s touch. But the room was empty and Jonathon’s breath was knocked out of him like a sucker punch to the solar plexus. His eyes wide, he made his way down the steps, finding both butler and companion stood there waiting for him, silently asking him for directions.

“Could she have gone anywhere else? Other than her aunt’s home—she had the motorcar and driver?” his mind ran a mile a minute, trying to process the information he’d been given.

“Nowhere we can tell,” Dot responded shakily. “We called Dr. MacMillan. She hasn’t seen Miss Fisher in days.”

Jonathon nodded, looking at the butler, “The red raggers?”

“They’re on their way, sir,” he answered solemnly. “They have not heard from Miss Fisher since yesterday afternoon when she inquired about acquiring their services for last night’s party.”

“What did Prudence say?” Jonathon asked, running his hand through his hair, keeping his eyes on the ground. “Has she heard from her driver?”

“No, sir,” the butler shook his head. “They noticed the motorcar had not returned since last night early this morning but being her niece…they didn’t question it. They assumed Mrs. Stanley loaned Miss Fisher her motorcar for the day along with the driver.”

Jonathon shook his head, closing his eyes tightly. “Has Phryne ever done anything like this before?”

Dot glanced at Mr. Butler who simply shook his head, “No, sir. Sometimes she goes out but she always returns. She calls when she’s delayed. We already called her friends—she wasn’t at the club either. We didn’t know where else to look.”

“She wouldn’t just disappear without saying anything,” Jonathon shook his head.

“Mrs. Stanley is on her way,” Dot said quietly. “She’s upset about the motorcar not being returned, but she’s also very worried. This isn’t like Miss Fisher to just…disappear.”

“Last time she disappeared she ended up in the middle of a bloody war,” Jonathon muttered, shaking his head. “Dot, your beau—Constable Collins?”

Dot’s eyebrows shot up and her cheeks went slightly pink, “Yes, sir?”

“Have you contacted him?” he asked, pulling out his rumpled loose tie from around his neck. “Maybe he can check if there were…accidents from last night? What kind of motorcar was she riding?”

“A black Bentley,” Mr. Butler answered dutifully.

Jonathon frowned slightly, “And you said she was with a scullery maid…?”

Dot nodded, “Joan. There was an incident and Mrs. Stanley was upset so Miss Fisher offered to take the girl home while her aunt decided on what to do about her.”

“She was supposed to take her home here?” Jonathon inquired, processing the information. “By any chance she has family looking for her?”

“No, she is one of the Gratitude Girls,” Dot offered. “She’s an orphan from the convent. No family.”

“Has anybody contacted the convent to see if the girl is there?” he sucked in a tired breath, leaning against the banister. He noticed Dot shaking her head in negative, “She’d have been the last to see Phryne last night—either her or the driver but I’m assuming he hasn’t made it home as well?”

The young lady shook her head, “He stays in the Stanley estate…they haven’t seen him at all.”

Jonathon hung his head, “So…either Phryne’s gone off somewhere without informing a single soul other than the driver she has taken with her and a scullery maid…or we have a problem.”

Dot and Mr. Butler looked at each other apprehensively as Jonathon sat at the fourth step and planted his elbows on his knees. He kept his eyes on the ground, silent and still, as his mind processed everything that had just been passed on to him. A part of him wished Phryne had just gone on one of her adventures and completely forgot the concept of time and decency but he knew that wasn’t her at all. She was more than aware how deeply her household cared for her and she knew he would be expecting to see her that day. It wasn’t like her at all to go off without informing anyone, knowing how worried people would be for her.

But he knew being in denial could only do more damage than good. Jonathon sighed, hoping to everything that mattered he was wrong and would happily pay a fine or spend a night in jail if this all turned out to be a mistake and he was wasting government paid time. He looked up at Mr. Butler then at Dot who were both so utterly focused on him and what he might say next. 

“Miss Williams,” the young lady straightened up like a soldier waiting for a blow. “We’re going to have to talk to your Constable Collins…I believe we may have a problem.”

If this was any other day, the abject fear on the girl’s face would have been amusing. Although he knew her fear had nothing to do with him speaking to her beau and had everything to do with what the request meant for them and their beloved mistress which only compounded his own mounting anxiety. 

Nodding numbly, Dot pulled at the piece of sadly worn fabric between her tensed fingers. She swallowed a heavy lump in her throat before she found herself able to speak, “Wh-what should I say, Mr. Lofthouse?”

Jonathon shook his head, his mind swimming. What could they say? He couldn’t assume what might have happened but he knew there was something wrong though he didn’t think this particular constable would very well go to bat for a gut feeling. Maybe he might, for his sweetheart who was obviously in distress. He loathed to go there, but he knew he would have to prey on the poor lad’s good nature using the affections of the young girl. He would do it though, in a heartbeat, if it meant finding Phryne. Any other way, the police would need legitimate evidence and more hours for anyone to be missing to give it a serious thought.

“Tell him…tell him we might need to file for a missing persons case.”

Just outside the, two black motorcars descended upon the property. Three people exited the vehicles, all of them wearing grim though determined expressions. Prudence thundered up the steps, followed by the two red-raggers, all of them prepared to turn the city upside down for their missing. They were surprised to be met with a wide open door, the three occupants still by the foyer, looking just as troubled. The matron straightened her spine, running a critical eye on the lot like they were naughty children.

“Where is she?”

o0o

The ports were busy though that was not at all surprising.

Hugh Collins stood awkwardly next to their parked vehicle in one of the quieter alleys in the Melbourne Port. He had been instructed to stay put and make sure nobody came near the police vehicle. It wasn’t their first time being in that particular part of the place and the last time, there had been some brazen attempts to vandalize their motorcar which ended in a messy arrest and a fresh constable with a broken nose.

They were parked near the harbour master’s office and Jack had gone ahead, following up on a lead on the now missing mysterious girl from this morning. Hugh reminded himself her name was Bernadette and ran the facts of the case for himself. It had been a hard start for that afternoon after the detective inspector had returned from his visit with the convent and the hospital. He had been hopping mad after finding out the girl had disappeared from the women’s ward without a trace. Hugh had been the one to receive the call from the nurse with instructions to inform Jack of the girl regaining consciousness.

Hugh had called the convent immediately afterwards, knowing how important this particular case was to his superior. A nun had answered and confirmed he was still there, conducting interviews with some orphan girls. She promised to pass the information along, which Hugh found to be agreeable though this turned out to be a mistake. Jack had never gotten the call and therefore, was never informed of Bernadette being ready for questioning. Hugh had been absolutely stunned upon the arrival of his superior, completely flabbergasted as he was confronted with the brunt of his anger at the development. Jack never had a chance to question Bernadette—she was long gone before he even had the chance to finally meet her and speak with her.

Disappointed with himself and his own trusting nature, Hugh had silently berated himself for being so careless. He knew he should have insisted on speaking with Jack himself, but that didn’t occur to him until he was being raked over the coals. Jack had been so angry, Hugh couldn’t find it in himself to explain what had happened and simply took the raking for such a rookie mistake. Now, a girl was missing and they had little hope of finding her. All she left them was some vague information about the an unnamed ship and some carvings in a punishment room.

“One-one-two De Vere,” he muttered under his breath, looking over the throngs of men milling about. Some of them shot him wary looks, most likely if the police were there for them or if trouble loomed in the horizon. A few changed directions when they felt him clap eyes on them, but he didn’t move from his post. “De Vere…that sounds foreign, doesn’t it?”

Sometimes it was easier to process evidence talking to himself out loud but he made sure to make as little movement with his mouth as possible. He didn’t want anyone thinking there was a constable about with a funny brain among the ranks. He adjusted his helmet, keeping his spine ramrod straight as he waited, running the facts in his head over and over again.

Jack had just emerged from the harbour master’s office, glancing briefly at the board to see the list of boats that were docked and what their departure dates were. Hugh watched him for a moment before a movement caught the corner of his eye and he noticed a sleek black motorcar pass by. He didn’t mind it for a moment, his eyes returning to track his superior when something flashed in the back of his mind.

Hugh whipped his head around so fast, he almost gave himself whiplash, catching the vehicle that was quickly moving way from him and further down the road. His eyes zeroed in on the plates, nearly jumping in place when he took note of what was tagged in the back of the machine.

“S-sir…!” he sputtered, taking out his notepad and pen and quickly wrote down the information. “Inspector Robinson! Sir!”

Jack looked up sharply, his eyes alert as he sought out his constable. He moved quickly through the crowd, dodging crates and carriers, turning to where Hugh was frantically pointing at. Jack noticed the retreating black motorcar immediately, catching a portion of the plate in the back.

“It’s a tag, sir!” Hugh said breathlessly one Jack was close enough. “It just passed by—black motorcar. A Cadillac, I think with the tag ‘112’. That’s it, isn’t it, sir?”

Jack nodded and slipped into the driver’s seat while Hugh took to the other side, “All I could get in there without a warrant is that William De Vere is a name of a former captain of one of the ships docked here but they wouldn’t say where. I think we’re about to find out which ship he was on. Good spot, Collins!”

Hugh tried not to smile, holding on as his superior eased out of the tight space they were in. They followed at a discreet distance, taking each turn the other vehicle took until they drove all the way to the end of the port where a large merchant ship was docked. The gangway was still in place and a few men exited the black vehicle while three men waited for their arrival. They mostly deferred to one man who was clearly the head of the pack but they couldn’t see who it was as the leader was dressed in a long dark coat with the collars up and a fedora covered most of his head as if he was trying very hard to hide his identity.

“Pandarus,” Hugh read aloud as they stood at the edge of one of the buildings. “Looks like a cargo, sir. Hear anything about that in there?”

“Just that they’re a merchant ship,” Jack muttered. “That’s definitely what we’re looking for…the girl said something about a woman covered in blood on a ship. And that vague message was the motorcar she tried to tell the nuns about…and she somehow knew the name of the former captain.”

“Why would a ship suddenly change captains, sir?” Hugh asked curiously. “They’re supposed to be leaving soon—if I remember the departure date correctly.”

“In a week, actually,” Jack nodded, looking at the ship and the crew as they moved around near the docks. “And I don’t know. Something must have happened.”

Hugh nodded, “So what do we do now, sir?”

“Well, without the girl or any concrete evidence…” Jack trailed off, watching as the man in the dark coat got on the gangway and headed up to the ship. “We don’t have anything other than an incoherent claim of a disturbed child.”

“But sir…what if there’s something there?”

“We’d have to find Bernadette first,” Jack shook his head. “Without her, we don’t know what exactly it is we’re looking at. I’ve already checked the convent. They don’t have her.”

“So what do we do now, sir?”

“We wait,” Jack said, moving away from where they were observing and headed back towards the motorcar and Hugh followed after taking one last look at the merchant ship. “For now, we find out what we can and see what we can dig up. We’ll wait for Bernadette to show up…if this is as important as I think it is, she’ll come find me again.”

“And in the meantime?”

Jack shrugged, “In the meantime…we have a name and we know exactly where they are. We’ll run the tags on the motorcar and see what name pops up. He’s a foreigner…he can’t be working alone and someone has to have registered that vehicle and that is what we will need to find.” 

“I guess that’s something.”

He restarted the engine of the moorcar and pulled out of their hiding spot once they were sure they were clear, “You’d be surprised how the smallest, seemingly most insignificant pieces can crack cases wide open. Sometimes you just need the right piece.”

Feeling more bolstered, Hugh nodded and looked at his notes once more. He wrote all the information he could remember quickly to avoid missing anything regarding what they just found. 

Hugh glanced at Jack, noting that he seemed less tensed that before now that they were actually getting somewhere. He took this as a very good sign, “I’ll run the tags the moment we return, sir.”

“Yes, you do that, Collins. You never know what you might find.”

The two men drove on, leaving behind the port completely unaware of what they had come so close to finding.


	14. Chapter 14

Prudence Stanley could not stand not to do anything.

She liked to think of herself as a much more sensible woman so when her niece’s household came up empty upon trying to contact the police, she went on a different route. She was sure they were being much too dramatic, deciding that Phryne was just much too clever for her own good to get into trouble against her own wishes. She was sure she had just lost track of time, found herself being enticed by something that caught her fancy and went off on her own. It was as simple as that, really. All they had to do was find out who exactly she had gone off with. If poor Jonathon Lofthouse couldn’t accept that he could not hold her flighty niece’s attention and her affections forever, then that was something for him to come to terms with on his own.

In no time at all, she had commandeered the telephone at Wardlow, calling up names and numbers, inquiring about the errant young woman. She instructed her home as well on the other side of the town to make some calls, telling anyone and everyone to inform her niece to come home and sort everything out. She sent Mr. Butler off to start making plans for dinner, despite his reservations, and informed Dot to get her mistress’ bedroom ready. Surely, Phryne would need to wash up and get into new clothes the moment she returned. Jonathon and the simmering red-raggers had been relegated to the side, watching the whole thing unfold, their protests unheard and their sound arguments to the contrary of the society matron’s beliefs silenced.

This phone-treeing didn’t need to go on for long because soon enough, the ranks among the high society of the town had the switchboards lighting up and anyone and everyone who was in the know knew something was going on. Phryne Fisher was missing in action and her aunt was on a mission tracking her down. Anyone who encountered the young aristocrat was to bring her home immediately and end this inconsiderate nonsense of worrying everyone.

Jonathon, having changed out of his rumpled suit and dressed down in a white button-down shirt and a pair of dark slacks, was only able to stand this for about an hour before he quietly nudged the simmering cabbies. He had them follow him to the kitchen where Dot and Mr. Butler were already waiting. They all wore varying shades of worried looks and silent mutiny, knowing that each minute wasted was each minute something bad that might be happening to their beloved miss. They could only stand this standstill for so long.

“The old battleaxe won’t budge an inch,” Bert muttered, looking at the empty kitchen doorway darkly as he chewed right through a pale end of a matchstick. “She ain’t bleedin’ playin’ hide and seek. Something’s gone down and Miss Fisher’s caught up in it, yeah?”

Jonathon nodded, crossing his arms across his chest. He glanced briefly at the open kitchen backdoor, “That seems to be getting clearer and clearer with each hour that passes by.”

“Miss Fisher wouldn’t just disappear,” Cec said quietly, looking more than a little concerned. “She’d have told someone…is she working a case, Dottie?”

“No, not at all,” Dot answered, her cheeks splotchy and pink. “We really must do something…maybe Hugh is back at the station? We can talk to him.” She checked the time, noting it was very late in the afternoon and it would soon grow dark. “The desk sergeant said they’d just gone to check on a lead at the Melbourne Port. I’m sure they’d have been back by now.”

“Mrs. Stanley is still on the telephone,” Mr. Butler offered discreetly.

“Well, he ain’t the only copper in town,” Bert practically growled, shrugging off Cec’s nudge that was his way of wordlessly reminding him to calm down. He’ll be calm once he claps eyes on the pain in the arse rich sheila that was making his blood pressure shoot up.

Jonathon nodded with a grim expression on his face, “Well, I think we’re all in agreement…I say let’s just go to the station. If Constable Collins is there, then we can speak to him. If not, then we’ll find someone who will listen.”

Dot nodded, “I’ll go with you.”

“So will we,” Bert said gruffly, his tone leaving no room for arguments, 

“I’ll hold down the fort and keep our guest occupied,” Mr. Butler said, already preparing a light tray of tea and small cakes that he knew would do the trick without fail. “Is there anything you’ll need, sir?”

“The motorcar is parked out front,” Jonathon shook his head, pulling out the keys to the Hispano Suiza and handing them off to him. “I won’t be able to take it without her noticing. I’ll take the taxi with this lot.”

Bert adjusted his hat and nudged Cec none too gently on the shoulder, “Come on then.”

“I’ll need to grab something from my room,” Jonathon headed up the back stairs swiftly.

Dot grabbed her coat and cloche from the hook on the wall, glad she had half the mind to leave it in the kitchen this time. She gave Mr. Butler a quiet goodbye and quietly followed the red-raggers through the back door, making their swift exit through the back of the red and white house. The room had just quieted when Jonathon came back down, carrying a heavy looking off-white canvas bag with leather straps in one hand and a heavy dark coat in the other.

“Will you be needing assistance, sir?” Mr. Butler asked, curious.

“I’m quite alright, thank you,” Jonathon said, nodding his head slightly “We’ll be off then.”

“Please do find her, sir,” the butler said hesitantly to the younger man as he headed out the door, knowing it was unwise to be so bold in making demands of someone well above his station. Regardless of this, he pressed on as he was unable to let him go without making him understand the importance of their mission, “Bring her home.”

Jonathon stopped, looking at the older man with some deep understanding. He paused for a moment before taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, “You remind me a lot of a man I used to know…his name was Crippins. He was…he was our old butler. He’s long gone now but the way you look after Phryne…” he shook his head as if clearing cobwebs in his brain. “It doesn’t go with the job description.”

“Caring never does but family cannot be denied, sir,” Mr. Butler responded in a low voice. “And she is that, Mr. Lofthouse. She _is_ family. We were never blessed with a daughter, but if we had been…I hope I’m not being too presumptuous, sir.”

Jonathon smiled sadly, “Phryne’s never really had a father,” he shrugged, his tone matter of fact and heavy with the truth. “Sometimes family comes in forms we least expect.”

“No truer words, sir,” the gentleman nodded. “Do take care.”

“You too,” Jonathon smiled a little. “Prudence Stanley is a force to be reckoned with.”

A ghost of a smile appeared on his weathered face, “Well, you know what they say when an irresistible force meets an immovable object.”

Jonathon let out a bark of laughter, “Just make sure the house is still standing when we bring her home, alright?”

“Most certainly, sir!”

o0o

Hugh Collins had been elbow-deep in information when the influx of intrusion came.

It began with the deputy commissioner who barely acknowledged his presence as he strode by the desk where the young constable was working. Hugh had taken a breath ready to greet the older man before he was already striding straight into the inspector’s office without even knocking which Hugh was sure would do no good for his direct superior’s mood. He hoped not to catch hell for that later. He kept an ear out, trying to see if he could get some sign whether that particular visit would be a good one or not so he could prepare himself. Still, nothing short of pressing his head to the closed door would get him what he needed.

So, he went back to his work, trying to parse out the information they needed to find out who owned the fancy black motorcar that tormented the missing girl so. There weren’t many American-made motorcars in the area, he thought though that didn’t get him the information he needed as quickly as he hoped. It was going to be dark soon and he wanted to have answers to give to Jack before they closed the day out. The piles of papers and the unanswered phone calls for the registration and tags department were a little too helpful, making this particular task much like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

Hugh was so concentrated in his work, he barely noticed the doors to the station swing open and an interesting mix of personalities walked through. First off, the pack was being led by his beloved Dot who was closely being followed by two red-raggers and a rather tall British man who Hugh had never met before though knew well enough of. He’d seen the man often enough in the news rags and Dot had slipped a few times mentioning him though she tried very hard not to. This only meant one thing, Hugh thought with no small amount of dread. Trouble.

“Dottie! How lovely to see you…and your-your friends!”

“We need yer help, copper,” Bert said before Dot could respond to the greeting.

“Oh, what’s-what’s this about?” he directed his question to his beloved, trying very hard not to flinch as he felt the stranger’s eyes on him. He was more handsome in his photos and a lot taller than Hugh realized. He was almost sure this man would be much taller than the inspector.

“We think something’s happened to Miss Fisher,” Dot said, stepping forward and waving a hand at Bert before he could say anything more.

“You…think?” the constable finally risked a glance at the stranger in their midst though he found the man was a picture of observant neutrality. “Dottie, if it’s Miss Fisher, surely it’s just something she might’ve gotten into—”

“Take this seriously, Hugh,” she nearly snapped then her eyes widened a little when she realized what she’d done. For a moment, her beau thought she might apologize but then something seemed to come over her then there was stubborn set to her jaw. “No one has seen her since last night when she was supposed to go home.”

“No one?” he raised an eyebrow skeptically. “She’s probably with friends?”

“We’ve called everyone,” Dot said, glancing at the men behind her. “Mrs. Stanley is on the telephone right now calling anyone and everyone. No one’s seen her, Hugh. She’s gone missing!”

“Dottie, didn’t you say she went to a party?” he glanced meaningfully at the Briton in the back.

“I had to leave early,” the man said simply. “Phryne sent me off with her motorcar and Prudence sent her home with her driver in a black Bentley and neither of them have been seen since.”

Hugh gaped at him for a moment, so surprised by the man’s obvious familiarity with the lady detective and her esteemed aunt. He wasn’t sure he had ever heard anyone but her niece address her so informally. It was rather disconcerting, seeing how familiar this man seemed to be with a woman so decked in titles and formalities. He certainly couldn’t imagine Jack talking about her and members of her family that way.

“Well, uh,” the young man started, forcing himself to look away from the older man. “It hasn’t been twenty-four hours. I’m sure she’ll turn up?”

“Get a load of this one—‘I’m sure she’ll turn up’—” Bert gave a mocking growl. “This is Victoria’s finest, yeah? D’ja hear anythin’ your girl just said, Tarzan? The sheila’s gone missing. If we knew where sh’was you think we’d be caught dead in this dump?”

“Now, you watch yourself—”

“Hey!” Dot barked loudly just as Cec turned to tell off his partner who had taken a menacing step forward. Unaccustomed as the men were—though less the red-raggers who’d gotten her ire up more than anyone in the room—they all stood attention at the uncommon show of force from the soft-spoken young woman. She shot them all a scolding look, her eyes cutting through them in a way only a mother used to reining in errant children could. Dot waited for a moment before she was sure there were fights that would break out before nodding curtly and turning back to Hugh with a gentler though still quite firm look.

“We wouldn’t have come if we weren’t sure, Hugh,” she said earnestly. “We’re truly worried about her. She likes to go about her way but she would never be so thoughtless and leave us wondering about her. She wouldn’t, Hugh, you know she wouldn’t.”

“I…I wouldn’t presume to know how Miss Fisher’s mind works,” Hugh mumbled. “But I can’t keep going around doing things on your lot’s whims.”

Dot looked utterly crestfallen and disappointed at the denial and gave him a heavy look, “She would drop everything if it was you who’d gone missing…or any of us.”

“Miss Fisher has her own set of rules, she doesn’t answer to anyone—unlike me.”

“You could listen at the very least!” Dot insisted, her cheeks growing pink in mounting frustration. “She has done so much for you—me— _us_ —and she is always there when we need her! Are you refusing to grant her the same courtesy, Hugh Collins?”

“I can’t just make things happen, Dottie! I could lose my job!” Hugh’s eyes darted to his superior’s door, worried he might have said that too loudly. He breathed in deeply, running a hand over his hair in an effort to calm himself.

But Dot had her own concerns, “And she could be hurt somewhere or-or—”

Hugh kept his calm and attempted to explain his situation, “We’ve got missing girls to look for, we can’t just drop everything and jump into something that might not even amount to much other than a misunderstanding.”

“Missing girls?” Dot asked, surprised. “What missing girls?”

“The girl from this morning—remember Bernadette? She was looking for the inspector but she was ill so they took her to the hospital and now she’s gone missing,” Hugh looked apologetic. “This is serious, Dottie. I’m sorry I can’t help…it might not be just her. Another girl’s probably missing as well…her name’s Joan.”

Dot shot a silencing look at the men behind her before returning her attention back to Hugh, “We haven’t heard anything about this. The papers were not notified?”

“No one seems to care,” the young man shrugged. “Orphans from a convent. We’re the only ones working on it, but that might change—” he glanced at the closed door of Jack’s office. “The deputy commissioner is here.”

“But Miss Fisher—” her ire suddenly seemed to shoot right up so quickly it made Hugh’s head spin. “I cannot believe what I am hearing from you!”

Cec placed a calming hand on her shoulder and stepped forward, giving Hugh an apologetic look. She almost fought him but instead, she turned away from her beau, giving him one last look of disappointment before heading to the other end of the room. Jonathon watched her walk past him then returned his attention to the younger man.

“Sorry, mate,” the calmer of the lot said with a deprecating smile. “We’re not here to cause trouble…we’re just real worried. No one has seen Miss Fisher since last night…and you know how she gets? Scrapes and all. We thought we’d ask your help, seeing you’re a copper and all. You’d know where to start, lookin’ for someone who doesn’t want to be found.”

“I’d start with friends,” Hugh said, glancing at Dot with rather sad eyes. “Like maybe Dr. MacMillan. Or those women at that club she knows? Yeah, there…and probably family?”

“Looked there, mate,” Cec shook his head slightly. “But we can’t be really sure we know all her family…any chance you could look that up? We’d appreciate it…she probably just went on to visit some, maybe?”

“Maybe,” Hugh said, biting the inside of his cheek. “Hatch, match and dispatch would have that information.”

“Too late for that, I think?” Cec glanced at the clock on the wall. “Didn’t you lot investigate the family…? Like when that nut who took Jane came around sniffing?”

“Oh, right,” Hugh responded, surprised. “We probably still have a copy here…although I’m pretty sure it didn’t list any family other than her parents and her lost sister.”

“Can we be sure, mate? Like you said, can’t report her missing yet…maybe we can keep looking?” he gave Hugh a small grin. “I mean, it’s Miss Fisher…she gets into all sorts’a trouble.”

Hugh nodded solemnly, “Yeah…yeah. Let me check real quick, alright? I’d really like to help…I do.” He gave a meaningful look towards his love but she kept her back to him. “I’ll be right back.”

The young constable moved to the back of the station where the records were being kept and Dot looked up just as he disappeared around the corner. The heavy look on her face disappeared and she immediately perked up, moving around the men and through the half-tall swinging door that separated the desk from the visitors and slipped through without a problem. She went behind his desk, ignoring the mix of surprised and curious looks she was getting and proceeded to look under papers and reading through them quickly.

“Why must you boys be so messy?” she muttered without thinking, moving through the papers with relative ease.

“Eh, what was that about, Dottie? Lad looked like he was about to cry,” Bert was obviously amused by this.

“Phryne doesn’t have family left here,” Jonathon pointed out knowingly. “Other than Prudence and Arthur, there aren’t any family left to look into.”

“Well, _we_ know that,” the young woman muttered. “Hugh doesn’t know everything.”

Bert smirked, “So, what’re you doing there, Miss Dorothy?”

“They know about Joan,” Dot responded, barely sparing any of them a glance. “They’ve found out about her somehow but they don’t know about Miss Fisher. Isn’t that odd?”

Jonathon nodded, “It certainly is. How’d they know about her but not about Phryne and the driver? Or the motorcar for that matter…a machine like that would get noticed if it goes missing.”

“Not to mention Mrs. Stanley would raise a stink,” Bert snarked.

“Isn’t she already? Half of Melbourne might know about Miss Fisher being missing by now,” Cec responded. “Think the copper knows? Robinson?”

“He’d be out here if ‘e did,” Bert returned. “Or maybe not…with them fallin’ out and a’.”

Jonathon glanced at the two men, “He would. If he knew something’s happened to Phryne, he’d care. He’s dour, but he doesn’t seem to be cold hearted.”

“Met the guy have ya?” Bert snorted. “Piece o’work tha’ one.”

Jonathon raised an amused eyebrow at him, “I sense hostility, Mr. Johnson.”

Bert barred his teeth, “Never could stand ‘im.”

“Until Miss Fisher came along,” Cec pointed out with mild amusement only to have his partner give him a not so subtle nudge that left him stumbling a little in place.

The Briton snorted, “Bit harsh on the poor chap, aren’t you?”

“Oppressor of the widowed and the orphaned,” the red-ragger muttered. “Surprised y’ain’t more up his arse, condsiderin’ how rotten he been to Miss Fisher.”

“Miss Fisher can handle herself—a little spat won’t topple her,” Jonathon said. “And what business of theirs is theirs alone.”

“Ain’t’cha the noble one,” Bert smirked. “Miss Fisher seems to have a type.”

“Leave you boys to gossip at a time like this,” Dot mumbled. “We need to know how they found out about Joan. Hugh won’t say anything if he thinks it will get him in trouble…but I do know how he works.”

Bert checked for the inspector’s door which was still tightly shut, “Better get a move on there, Dottie.”

“I know, I know—why is he so messy?” Dot seemed almost baffled by this. “Cec, keep a look out for Hugh. I just need to find—oh! Here it is.”

Cec’s ears perked up, “I hear footsteps.”

She pulled out a small black notebook from underneath the pile of papers, opening it quickly and glanced inside then slipped it inside her coat pocket. Dot replaced the papers back where she found them, patting them down with her gloved hands before moving around the desk once more and returning to where she had been. She’d just moved past Jonathon when Hugh came back, holding a small piece of paper in his hand. He shot a hopeful look in Dot’s direction and she gave him a relatively calmer look in return, which surprised him but happily accepted.

“There’s only a mention of Mrs. Stanley and her family but nothing else,” he said with an apologetic tone. “It seems there aren’t any family left for the Fishers here. I’m sorry.”

“Well, that probably means she’s with some friends,” Cec said, recovering quickly. “We’ll look around, yeah? Thanks for checking, mate.”

“Fat a lot of good that did,” Bert said darkly, nudging his partner and nodded towards the doors. “Come on, this lot’s no good. They’re not the only game in town.”

The men filed out and Dot hung back a little before proceeding to follow them out. For a moment, Hugh looked torn but then moved around the desk in a hurry, catching up to her before she could make her exit. She tried not to look alarmed, keeping her face neutral as she kept her hands close to her pockets.

“Dottie! I’m really sorry, I—”

“It’s fine,” she gave him a small, shaky smile. “I understand, Hugh. I’m sorry to have put you in this position.”

Hugh looked crestfallen, “I wish I could do better, dear. I really do…but the deputy commissioner is here. I’m not sure why but we can’t be caught doing favors like this—”

“I know,” Dot smiled kindly, placing a hand on his cheek. “You’re a good policeman, Hugh. I’m sure Miss Fisher will turn up. I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

“Oh, of course!” he nodded eagerly, taking her hands in his. “If she doesn’t turn up tomorrow, I promise I will make everyone listens and we will find her, alright?”

Dot nodded, “Of course. Thank you, Hugh. Don’t stay here too late, alright?”

“Yes, yes,” Hugh looked absolutely overjoyed at having reconciled. “You lot stay safe.”

She gave him a radiant smile and headed for the doors, “Always.”

He watched her go, an almost euphoric smile on his face, marveling at his good fortune.

o0o

Jack was in the middle of clearing his docket when his door opened without much warning.

He looked up, annoyed at the intrusion only to have his eyebrows shoot up when he realized who had entered his office without bothering to knock or announce themselves beforehand. George Sanderson stood there in his three-piece suit and dark bowler hat with that perpetually put out expression on his face. Sometimes it really was a wonder how this man was still the same man who used to be his father-in-law. The man he remembered didn’t always scowl so much or act quite so imperious. It was funny what power did to people though Jack kept this observation to himself and would probably never dare express this to the man in question.

“George,” he said dryly by way of greeting. “What brings you here?”

“Jack,” he said with a rumble. “I received a disturbing telephone call from an irate Bishop today. You were at the Mary Magdalene questioning their girls?”

“Yes, there was an incident this morning,” Jack responded, motioning for the older man to take a seat. “One of the young women from their convent came by asking for me and proceeded to collapse in front of the desk sergeant. Thought that might be something worth looking into.”

Sanderson looked unimpressed, “So you saw fit to question them without informing any of your superiors and proceeded to harass the women running their programs there?”

“Has a complaint been filed? I rather thought it was my mere presence that made some of the women under Mother Aloysius feel putout,” Jack said passively, leaning back against his seat. “Though I assure you, I did no such thing. I respected their boundaries and only questioned those girls in their presence.”

“That’s not what I was informed of,” his superiors shot him with a piercing look. “There was talk about a pregnant girl. Care to enlighten me on that?”

“I did not seek her out,” Jack responded resolutely. “I was examining the last place the missing girl had been seen when she sought me out.”

“Be that as it may, you should have turned her away,” Sanderson said sourly. “This is the Catholic Church, Jack. We need to be more careful.”

“I did nothing wrong,” the inspector pointed out. “That girl wanted to speak to me and so chose to.”

Sanderson tried not to let his irritation show but failed, “Is that why she’s run away after speaking to you?”

An eyebrow shot up in surprise, “Run away? If you think I’ve a hand in such nonsense, I’ll have to start questioning just how well you know me, George.”

“You went there to ask about a missing girl who was last seen talking about you and now another has gone missing after speaking _to_ you,” Sanderson said darkly. “Doesn’t that worry you?”

“Of course not,” Jack frowned. “What exactly is it you think I’ve done here?”

“You’re saying you have no hand at all in helping a pregnant girl abscond from the walls of that convent?”

Jack sat up, “Yes! I didn’t even know she was planning on leaving at all.”

“Well, she’s vanished without a trace,” the older man said, looking a little pleased to have caught him on uneven ground. “I believe her name is Ada.”

“That’s the name the nuns gave her, she said her name was Mary—quite insistent upon it, actually,” Jack mused, remembering the feisty girl. “She’s heavily pregnant. Where do they think she could have gotten to? Not far, I would expect.”

Sanderson waved a dismissive hand, “That is neither here, nor there. Our concern lies with our continued cooperation with the church, Jack. You can’t go around sullying things up for your own amusement.”

Jack gave him a dark look, “I fail to see how three missing girls can be any form of amusement.”

“Three? I thought there were two?”

Jack paused, “Oh…right. Yes, two.”

Sanderson stared at him for a moment, his eyes narrowing into slits before shaking his head subtly. He let out a huff of breath, “You cannot put our good relations with the church in jeopardy like this. We need to be careful.”

“Too careful, I think,” Jack answered with a scowl. “If that laundry was run outside of a convent, it would be shut down for breaching child cruelty laws.”

Sanderson gritted his teeth, “The church answers to a higher law and we are obliged to respect that.”

“Even with girls going missing left and right?” the younger man asked almost petulantly which caught the older man by surprise. “Just who are we protecting here?”

“Something’s changed with you, Jack,” he frowned, looking at him closely and running a critical eye on him.

“Girls are going missing, Deputy Commissioner,” he responded blandly. “Why does it feel like I’m obliged to care more about the feelings of men in robes than the actual safety of these innocent children?”

“They’re hardly children,” the older man scoffed. “But you are clearly not of the right mind for this…which is why I’m handing this off to O’Shaughnessy effective immediately.”

Jack couldn’t help the rebellious look on his face as he shot out of his seat in indignation, “O’Shaughnessy? But he’s an incompetent!”

“He may not be up to your standards, Jack, but he does have the distinct advantage of being Catholic,” Sanderson seemed obviously unconcerned. “It’s his case now—by order of the Commissioner.”

“I’ll have to call the Commissioner then and speak with him about this,” Jack reached for his phone. 

“That won’t be necessary,” Sanderson smirked, the corners of his mouth curling up. “Commissioner Hall resigned today. Just this morning, in fact.”

“What? Well, who’s his replacement?” Jack almost dreaded the answer though some part of him already knew.

“You’re looking at him,” there was an irritating look of utter self-satisfaction on the old man’s face and for the first time since he’d ever known him, Jack felt the urge to belt him.

“Congratulations,” he barely bit out.

“It’s my first day on the job,” Sanderson said simply. “I’d have told you earlier but it’s been rather a day. I would appreciate it if you didn’t make it any more difficult.”

“And your first move as Commissioner is to dismiss one of your best men for a case involving missing children?”

“There are concerns you are blatantly refusing to acknowledge,” Sanderson returned with a renewed air of importance. “I can’t have the Church thinking I’m sending rogue men after them.”

“It looks like you’re sending no one at all,” he pointed out with gritted teeth. “The girl—Bernadette—left evidence that leads us to suspect that she was on a ship called the Pandarus.”

The newly appointed Chief let out a snort, “Speculations, Jack? Really?”

He opened his drawer and handed him the piece of fabric with her name on it as well as the pair of broken spectacles, “One of the women working on the convent claims she not only saw Bernadette last night but she left a message that pointed us to that ship and another girl who might also be missing.”

“You’ve been busy,” Sanderson muttered, eyeing the items on the desk. “What else do you know?”

“The former captain of that ship was implicated by the girl as well by evidence she left,” Jack responded. “A William DeVere. We can’t find him. I can find a judge who will grant us a warrant and get us on that ship—I’d bet everything we will find the evidence to prove she was taken there.”

“You don’t necessarily have enough for a warrant, Jack.”

“It is enough,” he insisted. “Judge Whit—”

Sanderson raised a silencing hand, “Still, those girls you mentioned…that is a concern.”

Jack stopped, confused at the sudden turn. “…exactly.”

“The ship…what’s it called?”

“It’s the Pandarus—Collins and I have seen it,” he answered though there was a note of hesitation in his voice. “It could sail anytime. If we can get the manpower, we can—”

“Stop right there, Jack,” the new Commissioner cut in. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

“But—”

“I appreciate the efforts you have put into this and you have convinced me,” Sanderson said, slipping his hands into his pockets. “This is no longer your investigation and you have stepped over the mark. That’s not something I can just overlook—I’d be accused of playing favorites, considering you are my son-in-law.”

“Were—not anymore,” he bit out. “Sir, you can’t honestly think O’Shaughnessy is the man for this?”

“No, of course not,” Sanderson scoffed. “I’m aware of his…limitations, which is why I’ll be the one to execute the warrant and lead the raid.”

Jack swallowed harshly, “All due respect, sir. You’ll need all the men you can get.”

“This will fall under my purview and as Chief Commissioner, I can pull in any men I feel are necessary,” he answered almost blandly. “City Central will have more officers on duty and you’re at the end of your shift.”

Jack straightened his spine, “I must insist on this, sir. This is my case, that girl—”

“Is no longer your concern, Inspector Robinson,” Sanderson said with a slight growl, a sure sign of his growing ire. “Stand down, do you understand?”

“Commissioner, I—” Jack shook his head slightly. “I don’t understand this…”

“I’m ordering you to stop interfering, Inspector Robinson—it is as simple as that,” the Commissioner said formally, the steel more than evident in his voice. “If you proceed to disobey…I won’t hesitate to dismiss you.”

And with that final note, the new Commissioner exited the room, his eyes cold and his gait sure. He left the door open on his way out, his dismissal clear. A heavy silence fell quickly and a cold wind seemed to pass through the stunned inspector as he was left gaping in the man’s wake.

Jack stood behind his desk, glued in place and wondering what the hell had just happened.

o0o

Dot sat behind the taxi, a torch lit up in one hand and delicate fingers carefully running over the small pages.

She knew it was wrong, tricking Hugh like that and blatantly lying to his face, but she’d said a prayer of guidance and contrition. Her priest would hear about this for sure and she was, in turn, going to hear some words about this, but she felt deeply this was the right thing to do. If the deputy commissioner was truly in his superior’s office then Hugh would definitely be more scared than ever to be caught on the wrong foot. She understood that, she truly did but there was potentially something bigger at play, something the police did not know about yet and it could involve Phryne who, she was now sure of more than ever, had fallen into something she wasn’t prepared for.

What it was, she was not sure yet, but the fact that Hugh and Jack had some awareness of Joan’s disappearance but not of Phryne’s was a sure sign there was something going on. They were lucky Hugh was such an avid notetaker, their activities and the paths they’d taken that day more than clear, their findings properly outlined in pencil. She had been with him during lunch but he had to leave after. She only needed to find out what happened during the rest of the day to get a clear picture of what they found and where it was leading them. If it led to where she was suspecting then that meant they might find the right path to the missing lady detective.

Reaching near the back of the pages, Dot stopped, sitting up abruptly and catching Jonathon’s attention. He reached over, patting Cec on the back quickly who immediately turned the vehicle into the side of the road. Bert looked at his partner, frowning until he noticed the commotion in the backseat.

Jonathon looked at the younger woman, “What is it, Miss Williams?”

“We have to go back,” Dot said, her eyes glued to the pages. “We have to go back and talk to Hugh.”

Bert looked at her, “What’s goin’ on?”

“Today—today I helped them with a case,” she explained quickly. “I think it’s connected to Miss Fisher. I think…I think they might know where Miss Fisher is,” she breathed, wide eyed. “Hugh’s notes…he’s listed the convent—but he’s also listed their findings from the port.”

“The convent? Y’mean the place we send Miss’ laundry to?” Cec asked, glancing at Bert.

Dot nodded, “Yes. That’s where they think Joan came from. They went there today—and there’s the girl Hugh said went missing, Bernadette who talked about a boat docked at the port—they found it, it’s called Pandarus. They saw it at the Melbourne Port!”

Bert’s eyes grew dark, “If they know where she is, why ain’t they stormin’ the damned ship?”

“They don’t know about her!” Dot practically screeched. “They only know about the girls! They’re on that ship, the Pandarus. They have to know something’s going on there.”

“I’ve heard of that ship,” Bert said, nodding towards Cec. “Alice’s cousin works at the front office. Saw the ship when we came by—large cargo. Been ‘ere for weeks now.”

“The inspector and Hugh were there today,” Dot explained, turning the page to the small notebook. “They changed captains—let go of someone called De Vere. They’re trying to find out why.”

“Why’d they let ‘im go? Captains don’t just get let go,” Bert wondered aloud.

“It doesn’t say but it says a lot about that missing girl Bernadette,” she doubled back a few pages, giving Jonathon a grateful look when he took the torch from her hand and held it on to the pages for her. “No one knows if she gave them the slip or if she ran…she was ill and taken to hospital but she disappeared—Hugh’s marked the time of her disappearance as sometime this afternoon.”

“Well, why don’we just check the ship out?” Bert asked, more than ready to go to battle if it meant getting their mistress back home where she belonged. “Just get ‘er out of there—if she’s there.”

Dot gave him an anxious look, “We’re not even sure ourselves…we’ll need help.”

“It’s a large ship,” Cec pointed out to his partner. “Fists of steel and all—we’ll still need the lot to find someone in a ship that big.”

“They coulda have her anywhere,” Bert muttered. “I bet they’re smugglers…that’s one dirty lot righ’ there.”

“We will be better off having the support of someone like Inspector Robinson,” Jonathon remarked. “If they don’t know Phryne’s involved then they don’t know how far this one may go. Neither do we—we all seem to have pieces of the same puzzle. We’ll never know what it is we’re looking at until we put it all together.”

“Someone’s gonna need to speak to that copper,” Bert muttered, pulling his hat down and gave Dot a dark look who simply nodded. “Let’s get to it.”

Cec nodded, turning back in his seat and turned the motorcar around, taking them back to the direction of the station. Just as the black taxi was moving swiftly down the road, a blue vehicle sped past going in the opposite direction. Had anyone looked, they would have noticed the visage of a very irate freshly appointed politician in the backseat along with one driver and one large man. In their hurry, they barely gave pause, Cec merely noting their speed though he conceded he was going much the same down the other way. No one recognized the man in the back seat nor did they consider for a moment they would all have the same reason to be rushing about.

They had a puzzle to put together and all they needed were two coppers and the one stolen notebook.

o0o

“You need to leave.”

“Not entirely possible at the moment, as you can see.”

“They don’t know about that woman yet, but they will—and soon.”

“What do you want me to do? Set off without someone to steer the damned thing? Not to mention, we’re one short or have you conveniently forgotten?”

“Then find some other place to dock for the moment! It isn’t safe here!”

Sidney Fletcher gave George Sanderson the most tolerant look he could muster, though it wasn’t much. He stood at the edge of the port where the newly minted Chief Commissioner’s motorcar was parked haphazardly. Both men were wrapped in dark coats to keep the evening chill away, collars up to their necks and shoulders hunched.

“If I remember correctly, I put you in your position to keep petty troubles like this off my hair,” the businessman said lazily. “Or are you already struggling, Commissioner? And just on your first day too.”

“This isn’t something to be taken lightly, Fletcher,” Sanderson said darkly. “Jack already knows about the two girls—the one you lost and the blind one. He already has the name of the ship.”

Fletcher didn’t look at all bothered, “Then get rid of him. That’s what I have you for.”

“Jack is relentless—you don’t know him at all,” Sanderson responded. “And once he finds out who else you have in there—” he stopped, his eyes taking on a hollow look. “He can’t find out about her, Sidney. He can’t…he’ll burn everything to the ground to get to her.”

“I’ve no captain and I’m already down two men and short one for shipment,” Fletcher hissed, his eyes darkening. “Do you have any idea how insipid your concerns are to me? Put a bullet in his head and dump him in the Yarra! I don’t care. Get rid of him. For god’s sake, don’t you know your arse from your elbow?”

“You underestimate Jack,” Sanderson said, shaking his head slightly. “That’ll be your downfall. You need to get this ship out of here if you want even a modicum of chance to get out of this.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you still care about the man who divorced and embarrassed your own daughter,” Fletcher needled with an arrogant smirk on his face.

“This isn’t a game,” the older man said in a brittle voice. “You cannot risk Jack finding out about this. He is too relentless, he won’t just let things go.”

“I’m very good at motivating people,” the businessman said. “Everyone has a price.”

“You couldn’t afford it,” Sanderson returned, raising his chin slightly in defiance. “And once he finds out what you’ve done with that woman—”

“Oh, spare me,” he rolled his eyes.

“You need to listen to me—”

“I don’t need to do anything!” Fletcher squared up to the man who was to be his father-in-law, “You do not tell me what to do. I put you in your place, Sanderson. I can just as easily get you out.”

“You don’t understand, I’m doing this to help you!”

“My expectations were clear when I helped you get your position,” Fletcher snarled. “I held my end of the bargain, now it’s your turn.”

“And I’m telling you I can’t hold him off when he gets his hooks into something,” Sanderson muttered. “You need to go—even if it’s just to the next port.”

“The captain is rotting at the bottom of the ship and his second in command is barely coherent after getting shot grabbing that woman because you couldn’t shut up last night,” Fletcher hissed. “If you kept your damn mouth shut, that girl wouldn’t have heard anything! If anyone is responsible for this mess, it’s you!”

“You didn’t have to take her, you could have just killed her and get it over with!”

“How easily you forget—she went up to that bitch. We barely had a chance at her!”

“A scullery maid and a woman would not have been noticed so quickly!”

“The niece of that pain in the arse Prudence Stanley? Are you getting senile, old man?”

“You should have fixed it!”

“I tried but you were insistent on not littering the city with bodies on your glorious day!”

“Your men were sloppy, that isn’t any fault of mine.”

“They only had to be there because of your mess!” Fletcher growled, shoving a finger in the older man’s face. “You did this! And don’t you forget, Sanderson—if I go down, I’m taking you right to hell with me. What will poor sweet Rosie think then?”

Sanderson reared back, “You leave her out of this!”

Fletcher smirked, “She’s to be my wife, how far off do you expect me to leave her?”

“Listen here, she is never to know—about any of this!”

“And she won’t if you just do your goddamn job!”

“You need to listen! Jack—”

“—should have never been my concern to begin with!”

Sanderson tried to find some way to reason with the man, “This isn’t about wanting. He’s relentless, like a dog with a bone. He’s going to find out—he’s already on the right trail.”

“I’ll put a bullet in his brain if it comes to it,” Fletcher hissed, turning away from him and heading back up the gangplank. “After I put a bullet in that nosy bitch’s head. I’ll dump them in the ocean as planned. See? It’s so pathetically simple. It really is no wonder you had to resort to these tactics to get this position from Hall.”

Sanderson clenched his fists on his sides, “He’ll come for her, Fletcher. Mark my words, if he finds out—”

“Then I’ll give him exactly what he wants—I’ll make sure he has her corpse in his arms before I toss them off my ship,” Fletcher laughed as he walked away. “They will be together until the very end. Wouldn’t that be nice?”

The Commissioner shook his head, “This is a dangerous game.”

“Don’t worry, old man,” Fletcher said to the wind, slipping a gun out of his pocket. “I’ll take care of it…as always. Do your part and I shall do mine…starting with our silver stowaway. Then I’ll take care of Robinson myself if he sets foot on this ship.”

The old cop watched the criminal walk away with an increasing sense of dread, only then wondering if perhaps he had made an egregious mistake. He felt his hand shaking on his side and he shoved it into his pocket, though internally he insisted it was due to the cold. He glanced at the ship, noting the men looking over at him over the sides. He could hear faint echoes of Fletcher giving orders to his men. Belatedly, he wondered if he would hear the gunshot that would snuff out the life of the woman who had simply been at the wrong place at the wrong time.

George Sanderson closed his eyes, as he had learned to do ever since he got tangled in this particular enterprise.

o0o

“I could lock the lot of you up for this.”

Jack stood quaking behind his desk, his office filled to capacity with two red-raggers, a contrite Catholic girl and a British expat alongside a flushed constable. A little black notebook that was issued to all who worked for the Victoria police force sat in the middle of his desk, covers shut but its contents well and truly known by all in the room. They had been in the middle of trying to locate the damned thing when the lot from Wardlow rushed in, full of explanations and tumbling words.

“Really ain’t the priority right now, copper,” Bert snarked.

“One more word, Johnson, and I will lock you up—I already have grounds to hold you for the night and if I look hard enough, I’m sure I can find some reasonable ground for extension,” Jack hissed. He’d been getting dirty looks and snarky quips from the comrade since his separation from their lot. He was fast reaching his limit.

“Inspector Robinson, I’m the one who stole the pad from Hugh’s desk,” Dot said quietly. “But it was with good reason. We had to be sure—before going to you.”

“Sure about what?” he shot Hugh a look who was still too stunned to follow the conversation, far too preoccupied with his darling admitting to theft to realize what was truly being said.

“Miss Fisher—she’s been missing since last night,” she breathed. “We—I—well, we think she’s involved in the case you’re working on. The girl from the convent—Bernadette.”

“How could she be involved?” Jack asked, surprised though immediately on alert. “Was she investigating?”

“No…no, she wasn’t,” Dot shook her head. “She was at a party and she was driven home by one of Mrs. Stanley’s drivers with one of her scullery maids. They haven’t been seen since they left Rippon Lea.”

Jack frowned, “They? All of them?”

“And the motorcar,” the young woman nodded. “The scullery maid—her name is Joan.”

Jack’s eyebrows shot up, his attention cutting to his constable who looked just as surprised. “Joan? From the same convent? The girl with the thick glasses?”

“Yes, she’s part of Mrs. Stanley’s household,” Dot sighed. “She’d been sent to stay the night with Miss Fisher.”

Jack looked at all the grim faces in the room, slipping his hands into his pockets, his mind running through everything that had been uncovered that day. They still didn’t know where Bernadette was but she had left them enough clues and information to give them some sort of picture, the inclusion of Joan and now Phryne and a missing driver were just beginning to make things clearer and clearer.

“The ship,” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. “Bernadette said something about a woman on a ship…covered in blood.”

Dot’s nodded, biting the inside of her cheek in distress as the red-raggers stiffened. Jonathon stood straighter, his eyes darkening. Hugh looked at the inspector, his horror in an endless uptick. Jack, who had been avoiding looking at the stranger in the room, pulled out his drawer and took out a small brown envelope. He paused for a moment before opening the flap and allowed the content to fall out next to the black notepad.

“This was found in her hand this morning after she collapsed,” Jack said just as the piece of precious jewelry slipped onto the wood of his desk. “She was holding on to it as if her life depended on it.”

“No,” Jonathon breathed, recognizing immediately what had just been unveiled. “No…that can’t be.”

“It had some blood on it, but she never got to tell anybody what it meant or whose it was,” Jack said in a firm voice, speaking around the lump in his throat. “It has an inscription—”

“ _JP 1919_.”

The room’s attention turned to Jonathon who had gone deathly pale. He stood frozen in place, unable to tear his eyes away from the piece of metal and stone on the table. The inspector hung his head for a moment before nodding slowly and looking at the stricken man once more. For a soldier, the look of defeat he wore was utterly clear and without shame of weakness.

“ _Jonathon and Phryne…1919_ ,” Jack said after a moment, his mind flashing back to a conversation he never wanted to have been a part of. “That was the year she came home to London—the year you two saw each other again.”

The soldier’s worn eyes shot up to the inspector, surprised by the knowledge at the significance of the date. If he felt he had been intruded upon, it did not show. “How could you possibly know that?”

“She came home thinking you were dead only to find out you were very much alive,” Jack’s eyes met the man’s unwaveringly. He took a deep breath and said in a voice that only had the slightest almost imperceptible tremor, “This is hers…from you.”

Jonathon nodded stiffly, “I gave it to her. She was wearing it last night before—” he shook his head. “She wouldn’t have taken it off, not if she had to. She gave it to that girl—it’s a message…or proof.”

“We were trying to track down the owner…” Jack shook his head. “It had to have been her Bernadette spoke of. If anything, this proves she was on the ship—on the Pandarus. If she’s still there, we don’t know.”

“Then what the bleeding hell are we waitin’ for?” Bert shoved Cec aside and headed out the door. “If she’s all bloodied up, we need t’get her outta there!”

Jack followed him out, “The police are already on their way!”

“You’re the bleedin’ police!” Bert growled, his eyes cutting and angry. “What the hell ya doin’ here for?”

“We’ve been instructed to stand down,” Jack explained tightly, his jaw practically on the verge of shattering with tension. “The Chief Commissioner is setting up a raid to board the Pandarus as we speak.”

“And ya let them?” Bert made a move towards Jack only to have Cec block his way. “They’re gonna get her killed! They won’t care about getting’ ‘er caught in the crossfire! What’s the matter with you, bleeding son of a—!”

“Bert!” Dot’s voice screeched over the verbal attack.

“We can’t trust them,” Bert turned to Jonathon who still looked haunted, the ring in his palm now. “They-they’ll get her in the middle, she won’t stand a chance.” He gave Jack a vicious look, “Those girls are gonna die! And so will she! Your comrades don’t care about the innocent!”

“Get him out of here!” Hugh practically shouted, his cheeks red with indignation at the slander being thrown in their direction. They were the police force of Victoria, tasked to serve and protect. He wouldn’t tolerate such lies and vitriol especially on their own turf.

“Hey, mate! Come on,” Cec bodily pushed him back, spilling out into the main area of the precinct closest to the doors. It was late in the night and thankfully only the desk sergeant on duty was left to witness the ugly confrontation. “We gotta go—come on, Bert!”

“Yeah, we’ll go—we’ll get’er back ourselves! We don’t need you bleedin’ useless lot!”

“Don’t you dare get on that ship—” Jack’s voice thundered. “You get in the middle of that, you will get her killed!”

“We done a far better job keepin’ her in one piece than ya have, copper!” Bert snarled, pushing at Cec in his anger but his taller mate held on. “You left ‘er and look what’s happened. Good man, my arse!”

“Bert!” Jonathon stepped in, keeping his back to the inspector and the constable who stood at the ready to retaliate next to him. Dot had done well to stay out of the fray. “We’ll go—we need to go.”

“You can’t interfere,” Jack said in a brittle voice, looking just about as close to the edge than anyone of them had ever seen. “The commissioner and his men will board that ship. They will find her and—”

“And maybe she’ll be dead by then!” Bert all but screamed. “And you don’t give a bleedin’ damn!”

“Doing nothing is the right thing to do!” Jack snapped, pushing past Hugh in large angry strides. “It’s a police matter—any interference will throw off the investigation! Stand down, do you hear me? You’ll get her killed storming the damned place!”

“She’s _ours_ —she is our responsibility,” Bert tried to shove past Cec and Jonathon but the taller men were keeping their ground for his own sake. “We’re not trustin’ you bleedin’ lot to keep her safe. You couldn’t keep that girl safe, couldja? In a bloody hospital and still disappears! Your lot’s dirty! Someone’s got it in for the wrong side!”

“One more word and I’ll lock you up!” Jack growled, pushing Hugh off of him as he fought to get to the raging digger. “If I find out you interfered in that investigation, Johnson—you’ll be dealing with me.”

The inspector’s voice thundered in the crowded room and there was a sudden calm and an eerie stillness that seemed to go over Bert and he stopped, settling back on his heels. He gave Jack the darkest look he had ever given him as he looked over the shoulders of the men who kept him away from the source of his rage. 

Bert relaxed his shoulders and his breathing evened as he said in almost a whisper with a snarl he didn’t bother to conceal, “And if she ends up dead, I’ll put a bullet in ya m’self.”

“Oy!” Hugh’s eyes bulged and he surged forward, reaching for the older man himself this time. “You can’t threaten an officer like that!”

Before the constable could get to the rogue red-ragger, he had slipped through the doors of the precinct. Jonathon looked back at Jack who looked stricken by the clear intent that had been left in the air, the threat hanging over all of them heavily and left little doubt of just serious it had been. Cec gave the inspector one last desperate look before following his comrade out, rushing out the doors and cursing himself once he realized the keys to the taxi were no longer in his pockets.

“He didn’t mean it,” Dot said quietly. “He’s-he’s upset and worried. He didn’t mean it.”

“Didn’t he?” Hugh looked at her, his eyes wide and stunned. “They’re…they’re rabid, Dot. How could you—?” he stopped, desperate and shaking. “How could you do this?”

She gave him a desperate look, “You wouldn’t help us…and you still won’t.” She looked at Jack with pleading eyes, “Inspector—the-the girl—Bernadette said Miss Fisher—there was blood. The girl’s clothes were covered in blood. You saw that.”

“They’ll find her,” Jack said stiffly, his shoulders still heaving from the combination of herculean effort to keep himself restrained and his breathing even. “Miss Williams, the Chief Commissioner of the Victoria Police will be heading the raid himself. He will bring her home.”

“And you—you’ll just sit here and…wait?” Dot asked, disbelief in her voice and her face. “She’s out there and maybe she’s hurt badly. How can you just…?”

Jack didn’t know what to say, taking a step back and looked down on his shoes for a moment. “City Central has been called in and they have another detective inspector at the helm. It’s out of my hands.”

Dot gave him a searching look before turning to Jonathon who was also looking at Jack with an odd expression on his face. The lost soldier looked as if he had aged years on during the short but explosive confrontation and there was a heaviness and a look of despair in his eyes.

“You can’t possibly…” he stopped, swallowing the heavy lump in his throat and closed his eyes. His hand clenched tightly into a fist around the ring in his palm. He gave the inspector a humorless smile, “A good man, through and through. The most noble of the sort…that’s what she said about you…Phryne—she had— _has_ —faith in you. Despite everything, her faith in you has never wavered—otherwise she would have never sent Bernadette to _you_.”

“We‘ve done our part,” Jack said stiffly. “The Commissioner is already en route…they should be there soon. They will bring her home.” 

“She’s trusting you to find her,” Jonathon said in a firm voice. “There’s still time to change your mind…this is the closest she will ever come to asking anyone to save her—and she chose you.” 

“I…” Jack couldn’t find the words, his throat dry and the blood roaring in his ears. 

The soldier gave him a grave look, “She never stopped believing in you.” 

He turned to leave, heading towards the doors in quick, long strides. They’d wasted too much time already and he feared they were far too late. If the people she put her faith in failed her, she never needed to know as long as they could take her home safe and sound. To Jonathon, that was all that mattered. The petty squabbles meant nothing in the heat of the moment when the very life of the woman they all cared about hung in the balance. 

“You can’t go,” Jack ground out, frozen in place. “You’ll put her life in jeopardy.” 

“She doesn’t _need_ people—she never has,” the soldier said resolutely though he didn’t turn to face him just as he stood at the threshold. “But I made my own promises to her. I don’t intend to break them.”

“The orders were to stand down, soldier.”

“Not my orders,” Jonathon ground out, glancing back at Dot. “Miss Williams?”

“I’ll go,” she responded with a crisp nod just as the loud familiar horn from the taxi sounded relentlessly. 

“Dottie—”

She gave Hugh a desperate look, “I have to go. I’m sorry.”

He looked back at Jack then at her, clearly torn in agony. “I…I—”

But she was already gone, slipping through the doors and out into the night. Jonathon looked at Jack once more before heading out as well, their eyes meeting in one silent moment of understanding before finally stepping out. The two men of the law watched the room empty out and the heavy silence draped itself among them in the now quiet room. The desk sergeant had watched the whole exchange in silence before returning to his paperwork as if nothing had happened at all, welcoming the calm once more in the silence of the night.

Hugh looked tragically lost, “We can’t really just let them go, sir, can we?”

Jack stood rigidly in place, the air as heavy as the tiredness that was settling in his soul. He barely gave the young constable a glance before disappearing into his office, closing the door silently behind him. Hugh stood there, at a loss and torn, wondering if he would ever find a way to understand just why this endless tug of war couldn’t ever seem to have a proper ending. He slumped against a pillar, his cheeks pale and his heart rate failing to decrease. This band of misfits would be the death of him, he was sure of it.

A phone rang somewhere in the short distance but it was quickly cut off when the desk sergeant answered. Hugh was still concentrating on getting his breathing back in order, trying to understand what was best to be done next when the same officer called out, “Collins. It’s for you.”

Too caught up in his turmoil, he moved forward and took the telephone in hand without much thought, “Yeah?”

He listened to the other person on the line, noting the short message and disconnected the call. He frowned, grabbing the stack of papers he had left on the desk and moved to one side of the room to read them quickly. The doors to the precinct opened once more and Hugh stood up straighter, thinking it would be Dot and her lot, hoping they’d changed their minds and listened this time.

The hope died quickly though, when he realized who had walked in. She was dressed in dark clothing, head covered in a black feminine bowler, a small purse hanging on her forearm and a small beaded bag in her gloved fingers.

“Is Detective Inspector Jack Robinson still in?”

“What’s it regarding, ma’am?” for someone who had just witnessed quite the dramatic scene, the desk sergeant seemed almost sleepy.

“It’s—Jack!”

Hugh turned to look, catching sight of the inspector just as he stepped out of his office. He had his hat on and his coat, checking his gun with a determined set to his jaw and looking ready to go right into battle. He looked up in surprise to see who was trying to engage his presence.

“Not right now, Rosie,” he made the turn to head to the back in the direction of the police garage.

Hugh scrambled to grab his uniform’s matching helmet and his baton just as Rosie Sanderson pushed past him and followed the familiar path her former husband was taking. He moved to follow his superior’s former wife when something seemed to catch his attention and he went back to the pile of papers he’d just dropped. He moved through them quickly, scanning each page while keeping one eye on Jack.

“Jack, wait! Please!”

“I have to go, Rosie!”

“No, you-you need to see this!”

“What?” Jack was almost vicious as he turned around to face her, gun secured in his side. “I don’t have time for this, Rosie—I need to—”

Ignoring his rejection and protests, she shoved something at him and he stopped, looking at her oddly. She had forced the small beaded black bag into his hands, her fingers trembling and her eyes wide with something akin to fear. She pulled her hands back, pressing them to her chest, clasped together as if she’d been burnt just touching the small piece of accessory.

“What’s—”

“It’s Wednesday,” his former wife said simply, her voice unusually weak. “I-I have dinner with father on Wednesday nights…I came around but he wasn’t there. Mrs. Blunt said he informed her he won’t be in for dinner and possibly forgot what day it was. I was planning on writing him a note so I—”

“Rosie, please, I don’t have time for this, I—”

“Jack, please!” she almost seemed desperate to explain herself. “I went into his study and I went through his drawers to look for a pen when…” she motioned for the beaded bag, looking at if almost as if she was scared it was going to explode. “I found that.”

She gave the item in his hand a significant look and he mustered all the amount of patience he could and opened the clipped fastening of the small accessory. Jack looked into the contents, his eyes growing wide and he gave her an astonished look.

“I didn’t think much of it at first but Prudence Stanley has been calling everyone…it’s been all over town and my telephone has been ringing constantly with people making inquiries and trying to find information,” Rosie was practically whispering now. “I don’t know what this means, Jack.”

He didn’t say a word as he reached in and slowly pulled out a much too familiar golden revolver from the confines of the small satin-lined purse. Jack swallowed hard, his heart hammering in his chest as he looked down on the deadly piece of machine.

The small revolver made of gold covered metal and pearl practically had a legendary status among the criminals and the police ranks. It was one of the most known trademarks of the infamous lady detective of Victoria and there were very few people in the same circles who would fail to recognize it and the significance it held. Jack’s mind couldn’t catch up fast enough, a part of him not wanting to as he pushed back against what this might mean and what painful truth Rosie had unknowingly uncovered.

“I recognized the bag,” she said after a moment, cheeks pale. “I didn’t…at first I thought maybe father had a lady friend over, but…those calls from Prudence and my friends. I knew it was hers…she had it with her last night. They said she’s been missing since. Jack, what does this mean? Why would father have this?”

Jack looked at her, his jaw clenching. The rest of the contents of the small bag were also familiar—a tube of rouge, a small handkerchief with the delicately embroidered initials and a set of lock picks among them. If there were any doubt about the ownership of the fashionably deadly purse, they were completely null now.

“Sir?” the young constable’s voice barely registered in the background.

Jack’s eyes were dark when he looked at Rosie, “Have you seen your father at all today?”

Rosie shook her head, wringing a piece of fabric that used to be her handkerchief between her fingers, “No. We were supposed to have dinner—he’s never forgotten before.”

“Sir?” Hugh’s voice was more persistent, this time moving past Rosie to step in between her and Jack quite rudely. He used his larger frame to block her from view, leaning his head down as he gave him a piece of paper. “You really should see this…”

Once Jack read through what Hugh was trying to show him, he swallowed tightly, finally understanding why it was so important that the young constable felt the need to venture out of the line. He looked at him and he nodded gravely at Jack, glancing meaningfully at the distressed woman. He pushed past Hugh, moving towards his former wife and gently wrapped a hand around her forearm over her dark coat. 

“I need you to stay here,” Jack said, his eyes boring into hers. “Whatever you do, whatever you hear—you stay here, do you understand me?”

“Jack, what are you—”

“Please, just listen and say you will.”

“What are you—”

“Rosie,” there was no mistaking the tone of his voice.

“Alright,” she nodded reluctantly. “But Jack—what does this mean? Why would Father have Miss Fisher’s bag?”

“I don’t—I don’t know but I will find out,” Jack let out a harsh breath. “Collins, with me!”


	15. Chapter 15

There was a heavy stillness in the night.

Bert slowed the motorcar to a crawl once they were close enough and killed the lights to avoid detection. To the side of him, Cec sat with waves of tension radiating off his body with that same determined look on his face he hadn’t seen since the war. In the backseat, Jonathon and Dot sat, anxiety and determination clear on their faces. They were going into this blind but there was not one part in the old digger that was willing to turn back, not when the ship loomed so close and all the answers she held were trapped inside of it.

“Fists of steel,” Cec said quietly just as Bert killed the engine. 

“Here should be fine,” Jonathon said and got out of the car, heading to straight for the boot.

Dot looked behind her then at the red-raggers who gave each other an odd look before following. There was a sound of a thud and something metallic and they got to the back of the motorcar just in time to see what exactly the soldier had gotten himself up to so. Dot’s eyebrows shot up into her hairline while the diggers grinned happily at the array that had been readily laid out before them.

“That’ll do,” Cec muttered, eyeing the collection of weapons on display. It looked as if the soldier was prepared for battle with all sorts of handguns, automatic weapons and knives on display from the sack he’d taken from his bedroom before leaving earlier that night.

Jonathon picked up a pearl-handled hunting knife with his family crest and initials on it and slipped it into a leather strap in his wrist under his sleeve. He glanced at Bert and asked casually, “You want the shotgun?”

“I’ll take the Thompson,” the red-ragged grunted, grabbing the weapon and easily loading it with ease. “Only got a lick of it near the end of the war. Solid.”

The soldier nodded in approval, “Americans do know their guns. Mr. Yates?”

Cec reached for the semi-automatic, “The Mauser will do.”

“Good to know I’m going in with professionals,” Jonathon said quietly, slipping a revolver in his lower back while Cec expertly took apart the weapon and checked the ammunition. “This might be risky. We don’t know what we’re heading into. If you want to back out, I—”

Bert looked ready to murder him for even thinking so and didn’t hide his obvious reaction, “Oy! We didn’t come here for you. Shut it and move, Lofthouse.”

Suitably corrected, Jonathon simply shrugged. He reached for a high powered rifle and quickly checked it then loaded it. He turned to his companions, noting their varying looks of curiosity and simply held his weapon with a firm grip and scanned the deserted road they’d chosen, “Been a while since the war.”

“For all of us,” Cec said quietly.

“Not for me,” the Briton responded. “Haven’t exactly spent the years living a quiet life.”

“Sounds like a story for the pub,” Bert raised an eyebrow at Cec. “But I suppose for now, that helps. Let’s move.”

Jonathon nodded, closing the bag and locking it back up in the boot. He looked at Dot, who watched the whole exchange with a concerned look on her face. He gave her a small smile and motioned for her to return to the door she had left open to the backseat. Carefully, Jonathon helped her in and handed her the heavy blanket he had taken from the back.

“She won’t want you anywhere near this,” he said quietly to her. “She won’t forgive anyone if anything happened to you. So best keep safe, Miss Williams. We’ll try to return with your miss as quickly as possible.”

Dot nodded, eyeing the guns and knowing better when to argue. “I’ll keep a look out.

Jonathon gave her a firm acknowledging nod, “Please do. If anything should happen…the horn’s plenty loud.”

The young woman nodded bravely then stopped when there was a sharp hiss, “Wait.”

Both looked over with curiosity and no small amount of concern, observing as Cec crept along the side of the structure that was keeping them all hidden. They weren’t too far from the docked ship and the lighting was minimal. Ces was crouched low holding his hat down on his head, looking far and straining his ear to listen to something. 

“What’s goin’ on?” Bert asked, a hint of nervousness in his voice.

“It’s Robinson and Collins,” his fellow red-ragger replied in a low voice. “They’re talking to someone—looks like a suit. Ain’t the Commissioner fella Miss Fisher’s been palling around with.” He paused, “Looks angry.”

Bert slipped behind him, noting the angry gestures and the dominating stance the inspector was taking against someone who looked like an old fellow, “That’s the suit from the footy match—Sanderson. Think he’s deputy or something. That match after the Hangman died?”

“What’s he doin’ here then? And where’s that raid Robinson was talking about?” Cec asked, a slight edge in his tone. “Doesn’t look like there’s anything happening. They’d be stormin’ the place right about now.”

“Who knows? Told you the lot’s dirty,” Bert said gruffly. “It’s up to us…we gotta get Miss Fisher out of there.”

Jonathon nodded, “We’ll find another way in. Might as well take advantage of the inspector keeping them suitably distracted. Gets us a better shot at it.”

The red-raggers nodded and followed the soldier as he slipped into the shadows.

o0o

“What did you do, George?”

“I told you I had everything under control!”

“Doesn’t look like it,” Jack said, standing toe to toe with the man who essentially held his job in his hands. “Where’s the manpower? Thought this was a raid.”

“This is being handled the way I see fit,” Sanderson gritted out. “I told you to stay out of it, inspector. You take one step on that ship and you’re both finished.”

“You can go, Collins.”

“No, thank you, sir,” Hugh said, a cloud of puff coming out of his mouth as he spoke. Even in their coats they could feel the chill seeping into their bones.

“You can reprimand me, you can dismiss me, but we are beyond any of this now,” he shoved the black beaded purse into Sanderson’s hands. He took a step towards the man who was once his family, standing so close their noses were almost touching, “What’d you do, George? What have you done?”

“Where’d you get this?” there was a minute crack in the veneer of calm the old man wore. “What is this?”

“You know perfectly damned well what it is,” Jack growled in a low voice, snatching the small bag back. “What did you do?”

“I-I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sanderson said quietly, glancing at the men he had with him who were all listening intently. He only had one constable with him and the rest were large men in civilian clothes.

“Where is she?” Jack rumbled, voice low and dangerous.

“I don’t know what you’re—”

“Stop lying to me!” he snatched him by the collars, alerting the group of thugs but Hugh held them back with a threatening wave of his baton and standing between the two men. “What the hell are you covering up? What have you done to her?”

“I haven’t done anything!” Sanderson tried to pry his hands off his collar. “I’ll have your badge for this, do you hear me? You’re finished!”

Jack shoved him back, nearly toppling him off his feet and stood over him. “If you’ve touched one hair on her head, I swear to you…I’ll take you down myself.”

Sanderson’s eyes went ominously dark, “You never could set your priorities, could you, Jack?”

His former protégé looked at him for a moment before nodding, finally understanding just what kind of a man he now found himself dealing with. He shoved the small black beaded purse back deeply into his coat pockets, glancing at Hugh who gave him a firm nod as he kept the large men at bay.

“You can keep lying if you want to and you can hang on to whatever you think is worth losing everything for,” Jack’s eyes darkened. “But I’m searching that ship. Last chance.”

“I’m warning you, Jack,” the old man said with a hiss. “Walk away. This isn’t something you want to be messing with. It doesn’t end well.”

“The more you talk, the more I know you’re hiding something,” the inspector gritted out. “This ends tonight, do you hear me? Whatever you’re doing—I’m finishing this.” His eyes, dark as the night, bore deeply into those of aging light orbs, “And if she’s been hurt—in any way—I will make sure you hang. Do you understand?”

“You can’t threaten me, I’m the Chief Commissioner.”

“Not for long,” Jack said darkly, shoving past him and making his way up towards the ship.

“Jack! You can’t—Goddamn it, Jack!”

He didn’t stay to hear what the commissioner had left to say, racing up the gangplank with Hugh hot on his heels. He could hear Sanderson scrambling after them, which only spurred him on to move faster. He had seen the fear and uncertainty in the old man’s eyes, the flicker of doubt that showed the weakness in the bravado he wore. Seeing what evidence Jack had against him and what it meant, that was enough crack his resolve. Jack’s mind raced with the possibilities of what he was about to face, of what lay ahead and how this story might end.

The image of Bernadette’s bloodstained clothes and the ring stayed at the forefront of his mind and Jack let that guide him. He boarded the ship, almost surprised to find it empty. He had been expecting some kind of pushback, to find a force waiting for him to stop him dead in his tracks. He had been bracing himself for a fight, a confrontation of sorts but everything seemed eerily quiet. Despite his trepidations, he moved forward, pushing himself and holding on to his mission to finish things no matter what the cost.

Jack stepped onto the ship, gun in hand and his eyes sharp. He searched the deck and found it empty then followed an invisible trail that led him to one end of one side where a few sets of steps led him down an empty hallway. The lights were on but again, the place seemed empty. It was eerie, as if he had stepped onto a ghost ship. Behind him, he heard Hugh follow along with the grated mutterings of Sanderson who was still trying to stall them. 

He ignored the chatter, slipping stealthily into the hall, keeping to the wall just in case he was surprised by someone. He motioned for Hugh to follow behind him and in a flicker, he caught movement to his side and aimed, finger right on the trigger and ready to fire. He almost did, catching sight of a shadow moving towards him. The lights were dim but it did not provide enough illumination to easily see everything, just barely giving him a chance to find the features on the approaching figure’s face as it moved.

“Robinson!”

He stopped cold and let out a puff of breath when he recognized the voice, “Cec?”

“Yeah, don’t shoot,” the younger man grumbled.

“Where’re the others?” he asked just as Hugh stepped out from behind him.

“Searching the ship,” Cec responded. “Got a couple of them goons tied up here. It’s a smuggler’s ship…got nooks and crannies about. They’re a crafty lot.”

“The place looks deserted,” Hugh said almost breathlessly.

“You know what they say about rats and sinking ships,” Cec muttered.

But the inspector’s eyes were sharp and he turned on his former mentor, “Looks like someone tipped them off.”

“There’s still time to turn back,” Sanderson said simply, a glint in his eyes. “Before it’s too late.”

“I know about Fletcher,” Jack said darkly. “I know he’s the one you’re protecting. SWS? The black car? What the hell were you thinking?”

“You wouldn’t understand if you tried!” Sanderson hissed. “You self-righteous little prick, you never could understand ambition! You wouldn’t be where you are if it wasn’t for me!”

“I won’t argue as you are absolutely right—I wouldn’t understand because this goes against everything you ever taught me!” Jack responded heatedly. “I am where I am because of you. That is true…so how does it feel knowing I’ll be the one to take you out?”

The older man gave him a look of such pure hatred, but Jack simply shook his head. He glanced at the horrified Hugh, “The Commissioner…secure him to a post, Collins.”

“Yes, sir,” Hugh said crisply, catching the politician in a quick turn. He quickly and easily grabbed him by the arms and spun him around before he could realize what was happening.

“What-what is the meaning of this?” Sanderson spat out the words, pushing against the constable he had always deemed too soft to be anything more than an errand boy. 

Jack gave him a dark look, “What are you covering up?”

Sanderson looked ready to have a go at him, “I warned you, Jack! I warned you! This is it, you’re finished. Do you hear me? Finished!”

“Handcuff him and make sure he stays there!” Jack hissed at Hugh, pointing sharply at the rails beside them. “Leave him there.”

Cec looked like he was about to laugh despite the bleak situation but his amusement didn’t last long. He motioned to the opposite end of the hall where they had just come through, “Bert and Mr. Lofthouse are heading below deck. I’m searching here to clear the cabins. Captain’s that way.” He looked at Hugh who looked fit to burst with a question he was dying to ask, “Dottie’s in the car—hidden. She’s safe.”

Hugh could have melted with relief at hearing those words, grabbing his chest as if he might collapse.

Jack nodded, barely sparing the trapped Chief Commissioner a glance and made sure his constable was ready to follow. He noted the weapon in the hands of the red-ragger but did not say anything, “Come on, Collins.”

Cec moved ahead, “This way.”

They set off, the three men making their way deeper into the ship and down into to the cabin area. Rats scurried about and the cold persisted even in the deserted hallway. They cleared each room, shoving doors open and looking for any sign of life. They were yet to encounter another soul and the trio forged on, letting their instincts take them and hoping beyond hope they would find what they are looking for.

Left clapped in irons, Sanderson hung his head and wondered how he could possibly get out of his predicament.

o0o

Phryne tried not to fall asleep.

She had been awake, as far as she could tell, for the better part of twenty-four hours. She was tired, in pain, in need of proper sustenance because now she was regretting having a small glass of champagne for her last meal before her impending demise. She wasn’t sure what time it was but if she had to calculate, despite her loss of direction and consciousness, that it was night time. The ship was quiet and she could no longer hear the day’s rumbles that had been so clear hours before. The drop in temperature helped her make a crude guess and she tried to wiggle her arms in an effort to pump more blood into them. She’d been left in near the bottom of the ship with her arms bound behind her along with her ankles, a gag in her mouth and dressed in nothing but her silk undergarments from the night before.

Her legs were practically frozen and she could barely feel her toes even as she watched them move within her stockings. Not surprisingly, the fine sheer material provided no sort of insulation and left her to the merciless drop in temperatures. Her ankles were bound with thick ropes, too tightly and a part of her feared she would end up losing her feet before they decided to finally kill her. She tried to move in any way she could but her posterior was numb from being kept sitting for hours. She was cold, in pain, dehydrated and left starving. This was, perhaps, the worst kind of scrape she had ever found herself in.

Still, she was nothing if not determined.

Flexing her fingers, Phryne tried to move her wrists once more, feeling the rough material of the ropes cut into her skin even further. The burning came and went, from the cold or her own lack of complete blood flow, she wasn’t sure. The skin had to have been rubbed raw now but she didn’t let that stop her from trying. She even wagered if maybe she got enough blood through them, she might have better luck slipping them off. So she continued to try, moving her wrists and ignoring how her shoulders protested the restrained movement, the muscle strain steadily growing with each hour of struggle.

Phryne tried not to think about Bernadette, who by now had been gone an entire day. She feared they might have gone after her and recaptured her, but she didn’t truly believe that. She had seen enough of the cruelty underneath the good will that Sidney Fletcher had been harboring. If he had successfully recaptured the girl she freed, Phryne was sure he would bring her back just to show her how she failed. She would not even put it past him to have the girl killed in front of her, just to add to her agony and prolong her suffering, putting the girl’s blood in her hands.

A sound caught her attention and Phryne’s head whipped to the side, her ears sharp. She had been hearing all sorts of things in the hours that passed and she wondered if perhaps this was another rat. The ship was full of them and she’d had to fight like mad to get a couple of them away from her, hungry and curious about her and what they might be able to scavenge off of her. She couldn’t help the shudder that came through her body.

There was a thud and another scuttle and she turned her head as far as it would go, feeling the slight movement of the ship on the water. It was dark with barely any light left to her and Phryne found herself struggling even more to move her wrists, the instinct to fight and survive taking over. There had been lurking eyes in the dark earlier, something watching her and she had some sort of idea what—or who—it was. 

She shuddered, not wanting to revisit her fate from the night before. Fletcher had been adamant no one was to touch her and after what she had done to the captain, the other members of the crew had been wary of her, but there were still some foolish few who considered her to be a challenge to conquer. No one had seriously tried anything yet but Phryne knew she was in a very vulnerable and helpless position. Her heart thundered in her chest and the prickling of fear came which she tried valiantly to prevent from overwhelming her.

Another thud and something scuffed on the ground followed by something like a whimper.

“Ngnnn…” Phryne grunted against her gag, curling her body forward, straining so badly her shoulder was practically ready to pop out of its socket. A thin sheen of cold sweat began seep through her pores. “Unhmph!”

“Miss Fisher?”

She stopped suddenly, recognizing the soft voice in the darkness. “Hmm?”

“Miss Fisher, is that you?”

“Mhm!”

“Oh!” there was a loud thud that sounded painful and it was followed by a whimper. “I’m here.”

From out the shadows, a figure crawled out and Phryne’s eyes widened in surprise. One foot left without a shoe and covered in muck and dust was dear Joan, reaching blindly as she moved towards her. She made another sound, this time louder and allowed her body to relax a little, giving her shoulder what little relief there was to be had which still wasn’t much.

“Hmm!”

“I hear you…I think I can see you, I’m coming,” the girl muttered. “It’s dark…I can’t see. Am I close?”

“Mhm!” Phryne couldn’t help the joy she felt seeing the poor blind girl come closer and closer.

Joan kept moving, following the pitiful sounds the captive woman could make out with her smothered mouth. She stopped just as she felt Phryne’s frozen toes and let out a pathetic whimper. She trailed careful hands over her ankles, stopping when she felt the ropes that held them together.

“Oh…are these ropes? I’ll get you out,” she said quietly. “I’m here, Miss Fisher. It’s alright.”

Phryne couldn’t help the tears that burned behind her eyes, leaning her head back and tried not to cry as she kept her attention on the darkened ceiling. She felt the girl’s gentle fingers make their way around her trapped legs, following instinctively around where the ropes looped and finally tangled. It took some work but Joan managed to remove her bindings and Phryne could have laughed in happiness if she could. Once her legs were free, she carefully stretched them out in front of her, ignoring the painful wrench to her muscles that had been held immobile too long. This time, the tears in her eyes had little to do with relief.

“I’m gonna have to—” she tried not to flinch when Joan reached for her face, hands trailing carefully over her until she felt chin under her hands. Carefully, she removed the gag that had been tied around her head. 

“Joan!” she gasped in relief and winced, moving her jaw around to relieve the ache. Her tongue was dry and her throat no better. “Dear girl, hm, how did you get here?”

“I escaped when they came to give us water…I’ve been stumbling around,” Joan cried a little. “Miss Fisher, are you alright? Did they hurt you?”

Phryne smiled at the gentle girl, “I’m quite alright now, Joan. But my hands—”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said quietly then stopped. “Where are they?”

“Behind me,” she gasped. “Can you—?”

The girl went around her, still moving blind but seemingly adapting to her disability. She reached Phryne’s wrists, frowning slightly when she felt moisture in the ropes but worked over them nonetheless. She couldn’t see, not with her broken eyes and as well as the darkness. Her fingers worked to on Phryne’s bound wrists, feeling the sticky moisture on her skin though she said nothing of it. She slipped and heard Phryne take a sharp intake of breath.

“I’m sorry, did I hurt you?”

“No,” Phryne said, blinking back stinging tears. “You’re almost there, keep going Joan.”

“Yes, yes,” she nodded. “There are other girls here…we need to help them. They’ve been taken. I know some of them from home.”

Phryne nodded, “We’ll get them all out. I promise, Joan.”

“I think…yes, alright, here we are,” the girl muttered and suddenly Phryne was free. 

She let out a groan, her shoulder feeling the release in pressure as she let her arms fall uselessly to her sides. Blood rushed back into her limbs, stinging their way through her depleted veins and Phryne’s fingers shook violently as she tried to curl her knuckles into a fist and released, repeating the movement carefully though with increasing frequency. She bit the inside of her cheek to the point of bleeding to stop the cries that wanted to escape her lips as pain rushed through her body. She felt the blood pump back into them, the tips of her fingers feeling the vicious prickling sensations as her body started receiving the much needed rush of warmth. Phryne looked down on her hands, the strangled veins that had been bulging in captivity slowly and gradually settled and disappeared back under her skin. She took a breath and moved them as much as she could to encourage further circulation and get the limbs back in proper working order.

“Are you alright?” Joan asked, settling back in front of her on her knees.

“It’s been quite a day,” Phryne muttered, rolling onto her knees and arched her protesting back. Her stiff fingers dug into the flesh of her posterior as she tried to chase away the numbness. She didn’t say anything as she pushed one leg all the way forward into a full stretch and then the other, folding and unfolding them. She couldn’t run now if she tried but Phryne worked quickly to get her body back in order. She rubbed her hands on her legs to warm them up faster and get the blood circulating.“I just need to wake up my sleeping limbs.”

Joan nodded, watching the blur that was Phryne move on the ground. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

Phryne looked down on her bloodied wrists, “No, not at all. What about you? Are you alright?”

“I am,” she nodded. “They think I’m blind so they left me alone…didn’t even bother tying me up. Some of the girls were crying. We need to get them out of here…they’ve been here for days.”

Phryne nodded, “We’ll get them out. Have you been moving around the ship undetected?”

“Mhmm,” Joan nodded. “I go where its darkest…I fell off some stairs, that’s how I ended up here. They thought I was a rat or something.”

She tried not to smile at that and continued to flex her fingers and wiggle life back into her toes, “There’re advantages to being small.” She thought for a moment, “Any idea how many of them there are?”

“Not many…it’s been quiet, I heard angry voices,” Joan responded. 

“That might’ve been because of me,” the heiress muttered. “You’re sure you’re not hurt?”

“Bumped my elbow and my knees but nothing awful,” Joan mumbled. “Are we leaving now?”

Phryne held on to a barrel she had been resting against, holding on to the rough surface for traction and slowly pulled herself up. She made sure her knees were steady, feeling her thighs shake from the unexpected use and the sudden movements. She held on for a moment, breathing through the pain in her joints, blowing puffs of air out from her lungs. She ignored the dryness in her throat and slowly let go, feeling like a newborn colt learning to walk for the first time right out of the womb.

Her knees shook a little and Phryne straightened her spine, ignoring the aches and cracks, swallowing each groan and grunt. Then she followed with her knees, willing them to stop shaking until she found she could stand solidly without fear of falling over. Relief washed over her, glad to know being held down for hours didn’t seem to have caused any lasting damage that would impede their bid for freedom.

“Miss, are you sure you’re alright?” 

Phryne looked down at the girl and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently, “Never better.”

o0o

“That’s…that’s blood, sir.”

Jack and Hugh stood at the threshold of what they assumed was the captain’s private quarters. The cabin was the largest they had seen so far but it was also the most in disarray. The room was a mess, things tossed about including a large spyglass that looked like it had fallen off the mantle. On the ground in the middle of the room under a large table, was a pool of blood that had been left to dry. There were some effort made to clean it, based on the rags that had been left crumpled about as well as a bucket filled with brownish red water, but it seemed either the person doing so had given up or was made to stop.

There were blood smears on the wall, as if a hand drenched in it had trailed over the painted walls. On the table, there were sporadic splatters of blood, dotting the surface and long dried that still stood out on the polished wood surface. On the far side of the room, a pile of black shimmering fabric lay in a pile. 

“Sir—”

Jack ignored the halting call of his constable, failing to notice the startled look he was giving Cec who stood in the hallway looking just as stricken. He stepped over the evidence of carnage, careful not to trample what was left of them and bent down to pick up the curious pile of textile. He hesitated only for a moment before picking it up from the ground, holding onto one end only to have it trail as he slowly lifted it off the ground.

“What…” Hugh’s voice almost sounded distant. “Is that a dress?”

The inspector looked closely at the fabric, noting the black beads and the fine finish. The dress—what was left of it—was in pieces, cut down in the middle it seemed and Jack found himself holstering his weapon to take a closer look. He held the dress with both hands, holding it where the shoulders might have been and drew the torn fabric together. There was no mistaking the line that came from the bodice of the frock all the way down to the skirts. It looked like it had been ripped apart, destroying the garment beyond repair.

“She was at a party last night,” Jack muttered quietly and without thinking, leaned forward. He took a deep breath, stopping cold when a familiar scent hit his nostrils. The French perfume did as it had always done, striking him straight in the brain, triggering memories and bringing back the familiar. He almost staggered, his body growing cold and his grip tightened on the fabric, crushing the textures into his skin.

It was her perfume, there was no doubt in his mind. He knew he was holding the dress she was wearing when she had been taken and the manner of destruction of the piece of couture was enough to make the blood freeze in his veins. He didn’t need a forensic expert to tell him what this meant, what the evidence of violence confirmed. The destruction was too deliberate, the intent all too clear.

“Find her,” Jack said in a low, harsh voice. “Search the whole ship! Turn everything upside down—I don’t care! Just find her!”

“We can’t be sure if it’s her or—”

“ _I’m_ sure! Collins, it’s her. Now, move!”

Hugh looked sickly pale, “But, sir, the blood—she might not be—”

“ _I don’t care_ —find her. Take everything apart if you have to!”

Cec grabbed the young constable on the shoulder in a firm grip and they both scrambled back out into the hallway, leaving Jack Robinson with what he feared were the last vestiges of the last night of Phryne Fisher’s life. His hands began to shake, his feet beginning to feel a certain kind of numbness and he had to command his body to move. Everything felt suddenly obscured, as if the world had suddenly become dull and colder in the mere minutes that had passed upon his tragic discovery. 

A part of him could not understand whether his heart was beating too loud or too slowly, unsure if his feet were frozen or had turned to rubber. He felt both faint and solid, not knowing if a feather could knock him or if a boulder would shatter should one hit him. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling, but it was flooding him, threatening to drown and overwhelm him entirely. He wasn’t sure if he was still breathing at all but his chest heaved visibly like he had cycled a thousand miles without stopping.

“Be alive,” he muttered, putting the ruined dress away carefully where he could find no sign of blood or violence and promising to return once everything was over. “Be alive…just be alive.”

Resolute, Jack stepped out into the hall, gun in hand and a promise on his trembling lips.

o0o

Sidney Fletcher needed to have a plan.

He didn’t have one but he needed one—fast. He had been busy rounding up his men only to realize nearly half the lot had deserted and he barely had enough to cosider a skeleton crew. Fletcher was spitting mad, knocking who was left back on their feet, dragging them from their cots or whatever else they were caught in. He ordered the lad in the captain’s cabin who was trying to get things back to order to make sure everyone was ready. For what, they asked, but did not receive an answer. Their newly appointed captain who was nursing a rather nasty looking shoulder wound stumbled into the lower decks, feverish and bleary eyed, barely conscious from the laudanum in his sytem. 

Fletcher had been on his way down to the lower decks where he was planning to rid himself of a woman he really truly now considered to be some kind of curse upon his ship. Gun in hand, he’d steeled himself for the inevitable end and what he accepted to be the last choice left available to him to ensure recovery. It was an unsavory thought, something he took no pleasure in deciding upon and doing but he was a shrewd businessman and the survival of his livelihood and progress far outweighed whatever his consciousness and morality might diagree with. It wasn’t personal, it was merely the numbers and odds dictating their fate and his rested upon the permanent removal of the blight upon his ship.

Breathing heavily from exertion and sheer unbridled rage, he stumbled into the bottom of the ship where the rats and his ever-driven captive were hidden in the damp darkness. He held his gun out, resolve unbowed only to find that all that was left to him was a pile of undone bloody ropes and one upturned barrel. Fletcher released the breath he was holding, letting out a huff of air that seemed to freeze in the cold and he hissed out a strangled exclamation.

“Where the hell is she?” Fletcher rounded on the first person within reach—the cretin with the missing teeth.

“Left ‘er there, did we,” he answered haltingly, skinny and drowning in shabby brown clothes and a jaunty hat. “Tied ‘er up good too! She was right ‘ere!”

“Well, she’s not here now! Find her!” the frazzled businessman all but screeched. “She can’t have gone far. Find her and put a bullet in her.”

“Don’t got guns, sir,” there was a slight lisp in his voice from the missing teeth on the front. “Do we pummel ‘er?”

“Oh, for the love of—just give her to me! I’ll do it myself!” Fletcher groaned. “I have to bloody do everything. Should I just steer this goddamn ship into the sea myself too?”

“Well, sir—”

“It’s a rhetorical question, you idiot! Go! Find her!”

Watching the cretin scramble off, Fletcher whirled around, looking in the darkness a little closer. There was no sound but he felt watched, like there was a presence in the room. He couldn’t tell if it was his own paranoia affected by his fraying nerves or someone else was in there. Surely she wouldn’t have stayed in there? She would run. She was smart, he would give her that and that was the reason why killing her was the only option left. Tamping down his rage, he shook his head and moved around the cramped area. There were too many things down there and not too many places to hide for a grown man but for a petite woman like Phryne Fisher, he wouldn’t be surprised if she’d found a hole to crawl into. The woman was a damned menace.

“Sir! Mr. Fletcher!” there was cretin again and Fletcher’s head snapped around. He followed the voice up the steps, rushing up and holding on to his gun tightly.

“What? Did you find her?” he was out of breath when he reached the top of the metal stairs, shoes almost slipping in his haste to get there.

“No, but there’s coppers out there!”

Fletcher repressed the urge to punch the little shit and knock what was left of his teeth out, “It’s the old man. He won’t be a bother! How many times—”

“Nah, this is someone else! Couple’a blokes—one’s dressed like a copper and the other one in a funny hat,” the cretin said hurriedly. “They’re getting on the ship!”

Fletcher froze for a moment, gritting his teeth. “Robinson.”

“Who?”

“Secure the shipment, make sure all the compartments are sealed—he can’t do anything if he can’t find anything,” the shrewd criminal responded. “Find that woman! She’s the one he’s here for. If he can’t find her, then there’s nothing to find.”

“What d’we do with ‘er?”

“Shut her up,” Fletcher said simply. “I don’t care how. She doesn’t get off this ship, you understand?”

“But—”

“How many cops did you see?”

“Two…mighta been. That old man was tryin’ to stall ‘em but the one in the suit had that look ‘bout ‘im,” he muttered. “Don’t look like they got more with ‘em…”

“Robinson and his pet,” Fletcher rolled his eyes, remembering the doe-eyed constable who would have probably suited holy robes better than the deep blue of the police force. The naïve twit wouldn’t know what hit him once Fletcher finishes off his boss.

“What we gon’ do?”

“Just get the rest of your crew ready, tell them they’ve been boarded,” Fletcher instructed. “Two cops against this ship. I’m sure that won’t be a problem.”

The cretin looked stupefied, “We gonna kill the coppers?”

Fletcher’s eyes flashed, “Whatever it takes.”

“Well, alright…”

The cretin scrambled off and Fletcher looked around, finding himself amongst the stacks of sugar they were importing along with their shipment. He checked his gun, making sure it was loaded before setting off, moving around the piled sacks. He moved quickly, looking in every possible nook and cranny he could find, hoping to catch a glimpse of the escaped captive. He needed to find her, if not to kill her then give himself a bargaining tool if it came down to it. 

As far as he was concerned, Jack Robinson was a simp. He was sure all he had to do was dangle his precious lady detective in front of him and he’d fold like a house of cards. Fletcher had built an entire empire out of men’s pathetic weaknesses and he knew for a fact that the inspector only had one and he had her right on his ship.

Determined and sharp eyed, Fletcher continued his search. He was sure she was close, but she would have hidden and he guessed there was no way that idiot lot had captured her last time out of luck. He knew she had allowed them to catch her so the other little bitch could escape. If he didn’t hate her so, he probably would admire her. He liked smart women and Phryne Fisher was certainly one of them. She’d have made a good match if she wasn’t such a bloody do-gooding pain in the arse.

Reaching one end of the shipment, something caught Fletcher’s attention that made him stop. There was a strip of red on one of the sacks, the color standing out even in the dim lighting against the off-white color of the textile that was holding the sweet crystals intact. Fletcher touched it, feeling the roughness of the sack and felt slight moisture come off and transfer to his skin. He pulled back, noting the fresh shade of deep red and brought it up to his nose to sniff. Then he stopped, recognizing the metallic scent of blood and immediately, his mind went back to the ropes that had been left behind, practically drenched.

A slow smile spread across his face as he said in a serene voice, “Found you.”

Holding on tighter to his gun, Fletcher began to turn and head towards the direction where he thought the blood led him to but before he could take a step, there was a sudden flash. It happened too quickly and he felt rather than saw something collide quite painfully against his cheek. He let out a grunt, feeling pain explode on one side of his face and he fell back against the stacks behind him. He grunted and tried to turn to look but something hit him across the stomach and he crumpled, dropping onto the ground on one shaking knee, winded and wheezing.

“You goddamn bitch…” Fletcher gasped, looking up to see an almost feral looking Phryne Fisher standing over him, holding something long and solid that looked almost like a reinforcement bar looking ready to take another swing at him. Crafty little bitch, he thought darkly. “I’ve been looking…for you.”

“It’s over, Fletcher,” she said, her voice cold and her eyes dark. Even dressed down to silk undergarments browned with dried blood beyond redemption, torn stockings and having lost her shoes in her first attempt to escape, she looked more than ready to take him on. They hadn’t seen any point in feeding her or giving her water, knowing what fate they had in store for her and preferring her weakened, but it didn’t seem to affect her at all.

She held the piece of twisted bar in her hand like it was a foil, aimed right at him and there was a hard look in her eyes that told him she was more than ready to deliver another blow. For a second, he almost thought she was bluffing but his jaw was throbbing and he could feel the tear on his cheekbone she had mercilessly inflicted, the warm blood making its way down one side of his face. He wasn’t sure if she was ready to kill but she certainly looked ready enough to maim him if it came to it. He held his gun close to his side, hiding it in the folds of his coats and tried to muster a more congenial expression on his face.

“It doesn’t have to come to this, Miss Fisher,” he tried to say as calm as possible. “I’m sure we can come to some sort of…arrangement.”

“You already made arrangements,” Phryne replied in a cold, harsh tone. “One involving me an and innocent _child_ at the bottom of the ocean. Not quite up to the standards of accommodation I’m inclined to agree with, I’m afraid.”

“Now, now, that was Captain De—”

“Shut up!” Phryne hissed, tightening on them makeshift handle she’d made with pieces of dirty cloth she’d found. “They’re coming for you, Fletcher. It’s done. You’re not hurting anymore children.”

“You think it’s that easy?” he laughed lightly which only caused her to take another threatening step towards him. He raised one hand in surrender, to show her he was completely at her mercy. “How long do you think I’ve been at this, Miss Fisher? And how have I gotten away with it so easily? This is more than housewives poisoning their husbands or little kittens stuck in trees…you are beyond your depth.”

“I’m not the one on the ground, Fletcher.”

“Wasn’t talking about me, pretty thing,” he snorted, touching his torn cheek slightly and letting out a hiss when his fingers made contact with the wound. “I do have associates, you know?”

“We will find your associates,” Phryne gritted out. “All of them—and you will _all_ hang. Those children—”

“Nobody cares, don’t you understand?” he said, rolling his eyes slightly. “Worthless little girls no one even noticed disappeared. We took them in broad daylight and even under your nose and you didn’t even blink, you and your all-seeing eye.”

Phryne’s jaw tensed, “What are you talking about?”

“You’d know if you cared, but you don’t,” he snorted. “You are just like those insipid society bitches, thinking they’re proving their worth because they scrounge up a few spare change and make hospital rooms pretty. You’re just as out of touch, just as pathetic and just as bored as the rest of them—you just got better at pretending to give a damn. Those little girls? Society doesn’t give a damn about them because they’re worth _nothing_. Their lives wer _nothing_ until we gave them worth—do you have any idea how much one blonde, blue-eyed beauty can rake in? They were nothing until we gave them value!”

Her ears were ringing with the incredible truths that he seemed to wholly believe in, “Value? What? Sold off and sent off to be slaves? To be objects? That’s _worth_?”

“More worth than your pack of bored bitches ever gave them,” Fletcher laughed. “Come on, Miss Fisher. You think these girls would be anything more than they are? We’re giving them another life—”

“—of hell! To be used and abused and treated like possessions!”

“Is it any worse than how they are treated here?” he laughed. “They’re barely fed, clothed in rags and given spare change for pay—and they’re supposed to smile and thank _you_?”

“You are out of your mind if you think those girls would ever want to be torn from their homes and sold off to be slaves and playthings for the filth you cater to!” 

“They would die in squalor and nothing, used and abused for shit in this godforsaken country with nothing to show for it!” Fletcher snapped. “I’m doing your precious society a favor—culling the herd and getting rid of these pathetic souls you barely look at as you sit in your ivory homes and drink your golden champagne.”

“You’re…you’re insane,” Phryne breathed, her heart in her throat. Her eyes were wide with wonder and horror, taking in the man that she thought might as well be the deluded devil himself. “They’ll hang you for this.”

“No, they won’t,” and suddenly he lunged at her, one hand reaching for her throat and Phryne jumped back.

Moving blindly and with sheer instinct, she swung hard and didn’t stop until she felt the twisted heavy bar connect and Fletcher screamed, dropping in a loud thud that she barely heard through the blood roaring in her ears. He fell back, holding his forearm to his chest, back up against the stack of sacks once more. 

“I’ll kill you…I’ll kill you myself,” Fletcher groaned, curling forward in pain. “Goddamn…I think you broke it.” 

“Stay down,” Phryne said, her voice cracking slightly. “It’s over, do you understand?”

Fletcher gave her a hateful look before dropping his head once more, groaning loudly. He took deep breaths that shook his body, his hunched shoulders shuddering with each breath. He kept his grip tight and he breathed through the pain on his right forearm, lights dancing behind his eyelids. His blood boiled and his teeth ground together. It had been so simple, this whole plan and it was falling around him now in pieces all because of one nosy bitch who just won’t die. But he was nothing if not determined and he took one more breath, his chest expanding with the effort. He braced himself, planting his feet onto the ground before launching himself up once more.

He moved so unexpectedly fast, this time he was able to take Phryne by surprise. He ran right at her, using his shoulder to block the blow she tried to land on him, pushing hard as it glanced off his coat. The move left her open and he pushed off as hard as he could, shoving his other shoulder into her stomach and knocked her off balance. He pulled one healthy fist back and delivered a heavy punch to her gut.

Phryne let out a grunt, the air forced out of her lungs with the expected blow as light exploded behind her eyes. She dropped the bar, hearing it land on the ground with a loud clank. She felt Fletcher moving her right into a stack and felt her back collide against it. She hissed, feeling him trying to adjust his angle as he kept her pinned down but she balled both of her hands together and delivered a stunning blow to the back base of his neck. 

Fletcher didn’t make a sound but she was sure she had delivered the hit where she intended. When he started to drop, she caught him, grabbing him around the scruff of his coat and made sure to land his nose at the right angle on the hardest part of her knee and bounced him off of it. He cursed, a loud satisfying crunch confirming the deliberately inflicted injury and she let him drop to the side, face first. 

He groaned, rolling to the ground as he lay stunned by the consecutive blows. Blood gushed from his nose and the hit he had taken left him seeing stars. He rolled onto one shoulder and began to crawl like a wounded animal, landing back pitifully against the same stack he had launched himself from. He breathed heavily through his open mouth, keeping his head back as the blood gushed from his shattered nose. He winced, turned his head and spat out a sizable lump that mostly consisted of blood than saliva.

Trying to breathe through the pain, Phryne held a hand across her throbbing stomach, bent at the waist as she kept her eyes on him, one hand latched onto a sack. She tried to catch her breath, forcing herself to get back on her feet solidly, slipping slightly in her stockings. She briefly considered picking up the rebar but she worried he might take that as an opportunity to ambush her and return the favor and shatter her nose as well. At this point, she wouldn’t put anything past the dirty bastard. Taking shaky steps towards him, she grabbed him by the lapels of his coat and hauled him up, noting the delirious slant of his eyes.

His hand reached up to feebly try and hit her, the one she had already injured, but she slapped it away. She balled her hand into a fist and delivered an unforgiving right hook, landing it right on his cheek where she had torn it open. He dropped and she caught him once more, driving her knee right into his groin.

“You…you…” he groaned, sliding down against the stacks. His knees were gone, his brain going on overdrive as it alerted him to every part of him that was hurting. Everything felt red and there was a roaring in his ears he could barely hear out of. The raging white-hot pain she’d delivered to his crotch radiated throughout his body and he felt as if she’d kicked his testicles right into his throat. For those moments, all he knew was pain and nothing else.

This time, Phryne felt more secure and moved away from him to pick up the fallen heavy bar she’d fashioned into a weapon. She kept her eyes on him the whole time, her trembling fingers wrapping around the bloodstained knotted cloth around one end. She braced herself, waiting for the next ambush and planted her feet on the ground. Her stomach ached badly where he had hit her, but she knew she was so much better off compared to him. She’d taken every possible cheap blow available that was all collectively designed to incapacitate him and defuse anymore attempts to prolong this confrontation. 

She had planned on trying to find a way out, to get off the ship as quickly as possible but upon hearing the last order he had given to that ruddy toothless lackey, she changed her mind altogether. She instructed Joan to hide and doubled back, trying to find herself a weapon to give herself a better chance against him. He was taller, stronger and decidedly male and Phryne knew she had nothing on him when it came to hand to hand combat. He didn’t even have to be a trained fighter, he just had to be a ruthless bastard and she would have little chance to fend him off. 

Phryne worked with what she had, calling back to all sorts of things she had learned through the years from the affluent halls in finishing school where she had taken up balancing lessons to the days she spent learning how to fence with the Lofthouse boys to the street fighting she had picked up in the alleys of Collingwood. She knew a dirty fighter when she saw one and Fletcher was decidedly that. He was as ruthless a businessman as he was a criminal and he was in survival mode. He would obliterate anything and anyone in his path if it came down to it and Phryne couldn’t let Jack and Hugh walk into that unprepared and outnumbered.

She knew bully psychology. Their depraved captain was dead and the crew would take their cues from whoever was left in charge. She knew for a fact that the man she had shot the night of their abduction had been the one poised to take over the vacated captain’s post but that would not be the case until he healed. That meant Sidney Fletcher was the one left at the helm, which was understandable since he was the brains and the money behind the whole operation. Phryne was sure all she had to do was take him down and the rest of the filthy lot would fall apart once the men of the law came into the picture.

That just meant she had to be just as ruthless and just as cold to confront him. She couldn’t risk leaving him out there to ambush Jack who might not know yet exactly what he was dealing with. So she stayed back and came up with her plan and hoped she would at least be faster than Fletcher.

Keeping her grip true, she waited patiently, letting her body recover and tried to keep herself steady on her feet. She had been living off of bursts of adrenaline but nearly twenty-four hours without sustenance and in a constant state of fear and anxiety made her feel as if her own body was beginning to resort to devouring itself. She was tired but she knew if she wavered, even for a little bit, she would miss a step and she would fall. She couldn’t, not while Fletcher was still conscious and free. She didn’t trust him, not even to blink.

A sound came through and there was a scuffle not too far away, footsteps thundering overhead and Phryne instinctively looked up towards the set of stairs leading to the upper decks. She held her breath, waiting to see the familiar figures of the inspector and his constable. But it seemed that was all Fletcher needed as weak and bleary eyed, he raised his uninjured hand, his grip on his gun a little loose but still aiming quite true. 

Phryne had just managed to return her attention to him when she realized her mistake and she swung the bar, but it was too late. Even before she felt it, she knew she’d made this crucial error and she would be the one to pay for it.

The loud report of a gunshot echoed in the still air and the bar connected just as the muzzle flashed and the smell of burnt gunpowder filled the space. Fletcher’s wrist was knocked to the side, the gun clattering heavily to the ground and he groaned, closing his eyes against the pain. Stunned, Phryne stumbled back, her eyes wide and her hand dropping the makeshift weapon at her side.

Widened blue eyes met deadening brown as blood flowed silently over paling skin.


	16. Chapter 16

In any desperate situation, the first instinct is always to act immediately.

Perfectly understandable, but also unwise. No matter how bad things are, no matter how desperate, the first step is always to assess the threat and figure out how bad things really are. It will feel like a waste of time and the fear will always threaten to win out and the urge to flee will be overwhelming but it will do no good to run if it only ends up becoming a fatal mistake.

This is something that Phryne Fisher has learned over the years. No one starts out fearless and daring—as with a lot of things, whether intended or through experience, it is learned. For this particular aristocrat, years living in poverty and among bullies in a country thought to be the filthiest gutter of the realm taught her this hard-won knowledge. Rushing through danger seems exciting until something bad actually happens. Whether it is easy to live with or not can depend on what situation one is faced with and what consequences it brings. It can be something as minor as a bruise or a surface scratch, but sometimes, it can get really bad like a broken limb or, in this particular case, a bullet.

Phryne would not concede she had rushed about but her plan was certainly lacking the usual polish she was used to. It was easy enough to figure out once she found her weapon of choice, the stray rebar that had been lying on the ground near a forgotten crevice. It was heavy, of appropriate length and with a little bit of cloth, she had something durable enough she could lift and move with without being impeded. It worked as it should too, giving her the advantage on the unsuspecting but ultimately ruthless Sidney Fletcher. But a reinforcement bar can only take a girl so far until a gun is brought into play.

All in all, incapacitating the ruddy bastard didn’t seem all that bad of an exchange to getting shot and living through it. She left him trussed up and gagged with his own necktie and the belt from his coat, stripping him of his shoes just because she could and dispatching him in a dark corner just as he had done to her. Armed with his gun which still had five shots left, and the hastily fashioned weapon, Phryne moved on, taking each excruciating step. 

She could almost feel the adrenaline rushing through her veins and she found herself sweating profusely not just from the exertion but also the pain. Her body was reacting to the injury and it was concentrating its efforts in the affected area while making sure her organs did not shut down by adjusting the circulation of her blood. The wound burned and throbbed in ways that made her brain go crazy, threatening to reduce her entire world into that particularly persistent point of unrelenting pain. Somehow, she forced herself to concentrate on her own task rather than the hurt, letting the mingling hormones flooding her system cover up most of the pain knowing otherwise she wouldn’t be able to move at all. She persisted, hoping beyond hope the swaths of cloth she had ripped out from Fletcher’s shirt and secured in place with his leather belt cinched tightly around her hip under her tap pants would be enough to stem the blood flowing from the wound.

Phryne deduced it wasn’t too deep a cut and she knew if she was very badly hurt, she wouldn’t be walking at all or probably ever again. As long as she was alive, she would keep going so she crept along the walls, gun slipped onto her lower back secured in place by the stolen belt. She firmly grasped the rebar and held on to the whatever was stable enough to help support her weight as she forced herself to forge on, gritting her teeth tighter and tighter as she tried to make her way out of the hellhole that was the Pandarus.

There were thundering footsteps overhead and once Phryne heard them going down the steps, she slipped into a deep end of a stack of sacks next to the walls. It had limited lighting but she’d spent the better part of the day in darkness where her vision had long adjusted to compensate. She slid further in, hiding herself away in the shadows with just enough vantage point to see who might come by without leaving herself exposed. It wasn’t always the best choice to willingly opt to be cornered but for someone with limited movement and a few bullets, it was better to force her pursuers into a funnel than be surrounded and tackled from angles unseen.

She wasn’t sure who was coming but Phryne took the gun in hand and aimed, one finger on the trigger, back against the wall and the fashioned rebar at her side. If it came to it, she would make her last stand and make every shot count but more than anything, she hoped it would be the cavalry. The makeshift bandage made out of the torn cotton shirt could only hold for so long and then it wouldn’t matter if the wound was minor or not. Blood loss was blood loss and if she went past two liters then she was in very deep trouble. They were on the boat, she was sure of that after getting the information from Fletcher, but it was also a large vessel. She would keep moving but she wasn’t sure if the crew was secure and there were a few of them who would gladly have her head on a spike before heading to the gallows.

Moving on the injured hip with a gaping wound was also not advisable. Her adrenaline rush was abating once more and there were only so much of those her body could provide before failing her altogether. Conservation was her friend at this point and Phryne knew she needed to be smarter now rather than stronger or quicker. If she kept quiet and waited, then her chances of survival would improve drastically.

So she stayed in place and hid, willing for the familiar shadow of the inspector and that damnable hat to appear.

o0o

“You probably should have brought rope.”

Hugh rolled his eyes, grunting as he delivered a particularly hard blow to a horrifyingly toothless crew member who was out for blood. The ship had been quiet until it wasn’t and before he and the surprisingly lone red-ragger knew it, they were fighting what felt like a small hoard of shabby and rowdy bunch of men. They weren’t particularly trained in fighting but they were certainly tough, taking hits from the constable’s baton like it was nothing and delivering nasty punches in return. Cec had been using his gun to pummel them, not quite ready to start shooting but it would only be a matter of time if the digger felt overwhelmed.

They knocked most of them to the ground but there were still four of them trying to take down both men who had boarded their ship. Hugh took a hit to the temple that left him a little dazed and he prepared himself for a finishing punch, but a shot rang out of nowhere and the blood burst from the shoulder of the large man who was trying to trample him. Shocked, Hugh looked up to see the steel-eyed Briton on one knee overhead, a long rifle poised perfectly against his shoulder. 

“Get down!” the commanding voice boomed and before Hugh knew it, three loud gunshots blasted through the air. He was dropped down on the ground with his hands covering his head and neck as the three other men had fell onto the ground, all alive but groaning and crying out in pain.

Wide eyed and scrambling to his feet, Hugh’s eyes shot towards the soldier perched casually up top. His mind was a jumbled mess of adrenaline, fear and rage, “You could have shot us!”

“He didn’t now get on with it,” Bert said out of nowhere, his own weapon in hand and went past Hugh with barely a glance and headed straight for Cec, helping him off the ground with a stern look. 

Cec nodded in thanks at his partner, “Three more headed down there going one place.”

Jonathon moved quickly, slipping through the railing and dropping down onto the deck with ease. He looked down on the unconscious half Cec and Hugh were responsible for and the ones he’d shot down who were still writhing and groaning on the ground. None of them were dead and what injuries they incurred could be easily tended to having taken each non-fatal shot at the right points. He held his rifle in his hand and looked at the two men who had done most of the hard work.

“You’ll need to have a look at that,” he motioned to Cec whose temple was bleeding slightly. “Best secure these men and let us pursue the rest. Where’s the inspector?”

“He…” Hugh looked around, confused as he picked up one of the barely conscious men. “He was with us.”

“I think he went after those three,” Cec muttered, wiping off the blood with a crumpled handkerchief that Bert offered him. “He’s armed.”

“Alone?” Hugh jumped in alarm. “He shouldn’t go around without back up. We’ve got to go get him!”

“We’ll make sure he’s covered,” Jonathon said simply, raising a calming hand towards the agitated young man. “Secure the ship and these men. Whoever’s left will either try to run rather than keep fighting.”

“Hold on…” Cec stopped them, glancing at Hugh who was shaking his head at him but he paid him no mind. He couldn’t let them go into pursuit without full knowledge of what may be waiting for them and leave them to be caught off guard. It wouldn’t be fair and it would be cruel. “The inspector—he’s not gonna be in any shape to…” he looked at Bert with hollow eyes. “The captain’s cabin…it was full of blood. And Miss Fisher’s dress was in there covered in it.”

Bert’s face hardened, “But she wasn’t there, was she?”

“No, but…” Cec shook his head. “It didn’t look good.”

Jonathon breathed in sharply and handed his rifle to Bert, taking out his knife from the cuff on his wrist and went to one of the fallen men on the ground, writhing in pain. He turned him over, forcing him to let out a scream as his wound was agitated, looking over at him with the most unnervingly neutral expression on his face.

“There is a woman on this ship…dark short hair, small frame with pale skin,” he told him with a calm voice. “You get to keep that shoulder if you tell me what you know.”

Hugh moved to intervene but Bert stepped into his path, giving him a warning look. Cec simply stood back, wincing in sympathy pains as he watched the poor stubborn sod who couldn’t seemed to understand what cooperation meant.

“Goddamn you!” the man groaned. “No bleedin’ woman here!”

The Briton moved his foot and positioned the toe of his boot into the gaping wound on his shoulder. The man let out a shattering scream, but the look on the soldier’s face almost seemed like he was bored, completely unaffected by his obvious suffering. “Lying is very bad for you. Try again. Truth this time.”

“Shit…shit…” the man groaned, wheezing slightly as he tried to get away from the boot that was pinning him down right where he had been shot. “I don’t…I dunno…I just…I saw her when-when they brought her on board—”

“Don’ tell ‘im nothin’!”

This shout came from the toothless one that Hugh had smacked hard enough with his baton to knock him out temporarily and the blubbering mess that was his speech spoke about that particular blow. Jonathon turned, immediately releasing the man he had pinned down and raised an eyebrow at the little cretin that was trying to crawl away. He turned to him, landing a blow right into his stomach with an unceremonious kick and turned him over just as he had done the other one.

Behind him, the man the soldier had just released turned on his side and began to vomit but none of them paid him any attention as they focused on a new subject.

“What do you know?” the question was so simple but the tone of his voice carried enough of the threat to come across so clearly, even a deaf person would have picked it up.

“Yer too late,” toothless giggled stupidly. “If you come for that pretty silver thing, she done for. Been trouble the moment we got ‘er on board, that one. Boss couldn’t wait ‘til we got to sea to dispatch ‘er…had to do it ‘imself too.”

His grating laughter filled the space and the Briton’s eyes darkened.

“There’s something that the Chinese like to do…” Jonathon knelt down and without a warning, swipe his knife across the toothless captive’s cheek. The resulting cut was swift and clean, opening up his face with a white-hot pain that came so quick he barely felt it at first. He was still laughing until the wound opened and blood started to pour out then after that, he let out a screech so loud the it left the constable flinching.

“I forget what it’s called, but basically, they keep their prisoners alive and give them one thousand precise cuts,” Jonathon took another swipe, this time on to the side of the man’s neck which also began to bleed. “None of the cuts are fatal and every single one is inflicted with the intention to cause pain and maim but never death.”

He took another swipe and another painful cry broke through the air. It was so loud and so jarring, the captive Hugh was holding was beginning to shake under his grip as he watched the scene unfold. He glanced at Cec and Bert who simply stood there, not at all bothered and looking as if they were simply waiting. 

Jonathon either didn’t seem to remember or care they were not alone, “If she is dead…I will continue until I finish the thousandth cut.” Another swipe, another scream. “And if she is alive and you are lying to me, I will make sure to go beyond a thousand…and I will feed you your own—”

“Stop! Stop! She’s ‘ere! She’s ‘ere!” the pitiful bleeding thing cried. “She-she’s down below. That suit—that suit with the money—eh, he been ragin’ at ‘er for killin’ the captain. She-she’s alive. I tell ya, she’s alive!” He wept, “I saw’er before I got on up ‘ere…he went lookin’ for ‘er! That’s all I know!”

“The blood in the cabin?” Jonathon asked, raising his knife and the toothless cretin whimpered.

“She killed ‘im, she did! She killed the captain when he—he tried to have a go at ‘er! She killed ‘im! That little silver bitch had a knife and she killed ‘im dead!”

Jonathon started to bring his knife down once more, but this time Hugh was the one who screamed.

“That’s enough!” the constable raised his voice. “Stop it! He’s given you what you want!”

“Have you?” Jonathon asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Mister Fletcher…he went down there to kill ‘er when I told ‘im the coppers were getting’ on the ship…that’s it. All I know. I swear…that’s it.” He let out a croak, “He told us to kill them coppers—” he gave Hugh a beseeching look. “But ‘e said he’ll kill ‘er ‘imself…that’s it. I swear. That’s it.”

Jonathon looked up sharply at Hugh, “That was nearly fifteen minutes ago.” He looked down on his captive, “Where was she? Where did Fletcher go to find her?”

“Bottom of the ship in the hull but she’s escaped,” he muttered through a heaving chest. “That crafty bitch keeps gettin’ away…that’s why he wants to kill ‘er and git it over with.” He wept more, “That’s…that’s why I said yer too late. He got to ‘er…sure of it.”

Eyes flashing, Jonathon stood up, grabbed his rifle and ran down the hall at full speed and didn’t stop until he was flying down the stairs. Bert cursed and ran after him, hot on his heels, telling both the constable and his partner to stay put and watch the lot. Hugh looked down on the weeping man, his eyes wide with horror and disgust.

“That was…” the constable didn’t know what to say, the words stuck in his throat.

“War,” Cec said simply. “You see things in the war far worse than this, mate. This…this was child’s play. Won’t even come close to killing him.”

“Doesn’t make it right,” Hugh muttered darkly.

“Hurting Miss Fisher wasn’t right either but he was laughing about it,” the red-ragger looked down on the bleeding and whimpering cretin. “It all comes down to what choice you make.”

Hugh swallowed tightly, “He did it like it was nothing…like he didn’t feel anything.” He looked at Cec with accusing eyes, “You say you can do something like that? Eh?”

“You learn to lock it away until the whole bit is done,” Cec responded simply though there was a note of heaviness in his voice. “There’s plenty of time to feel the guilt and all that once it’s all over and everyone is safe.” He gave him a small sad smile, “What d’you think me and Bert been doin’ all this time, eh?”

“I don’t think I can do that…” Hugh breathed, eyes wide and his heart in his throat. “I…can’t imagine it.”

“Then best pray you never have to go to war, mate,” Cec said simply and stood up, looking around the bodies on the ground. “I’ll get some rope.”

Hugh watched him leave, left to wonder about what these men seemed to all know that he did not. He had seen Jack in these kinds of moments too, but he’d never seen him inflict pain and torture on someone. His temper could flare and his emotions could, though very rarely, get to him but never quite to that same level. Could Hugh imagine him doing what Jonathon had just done? Truthfully, not at all, but Cec made it sound as if men with shared experiences knew exactly what kind of mindset one had to get to turn into that and what kind of lifechanging event like a war could do to a person.

The fact that Jonathon seemed to be able to do it so easily and willingly without hesitation made his insides go cold and a blanket of fear threatened to smother him. Meeting the affable and quiet man the first time, he didn’t think for a second the Briton had that kind of a violent streak in him. Hugh had just seen it for himself and yet he still could not wrap his mind around it. Is this what war did to men? If so, it was far more horrifying than Hugh ever imagined it would be. Was this why Jack refused to talk about his time as a soldier? Why he seemed to completely shun any talk of those years he spent away from home? Why Bert and Cec were the way they were? It all seemed so warped, to see people transform into an entirely different person and yet—

Hugh shuddered, silently praying he would never have to experience war and change as these men had.

o0o

Tunnel vision can be a dangerous thing.

Under duress and driven by the necessity of vengeance and righteous anger, things can be complicated even further by heightened emotions and the collapse of logical thinking. What would normally be a choice made through rational decisions can easily be overridden by something like a sledgehammer to the solar plexus to the brain like the possibility of a great and terrible loss. Something that may seem crazy and foolish can be the go-to choice when going through an upheaval enough to wreak havoc on once pristine wiring in the most stoic and buttoned up individuals. A good example would be faced with the death of the woman you love.

Love can do a lot of things to people, they can lose their minds, fight wars and decimate countries in the name of one word with four letters that can hold an entire universe. It isn’t a secret, it is a common enough subject that all the poets, all the dramatists, writers, singers and everyone in between have tried to capture. It isn’t a mystery—it just simply has the ability to disrupt and leave things entirely different from what they once were. Like the potent force that it can be, it can leave the mind boggled and addled in ways nothing else in the world can. 

This isn’t something that is likely to disappear since both good and bad can come from this particular and sometimes troublesome short word. It can bring immeasurable joy but it can also cause immense grief. It all depends on how the story progresses for each person that experiences it. If it ends happily, then that’s a blessing and it is pretty nice. If it ends badly, then that is an altogether different matter. Whether recovery from the loss of it is tenable or not remains solely in the individual afflicted by it.

Loss of love can manifest in different ways, come in different forms and each has its own particular reactive effect. Sometimes it is natural, an organic end to something that was not meant to last and parties can part amicably and even with gentle affection and understanding. Other times, it can be sudden and it leaves questions that may never be answered which only compounds the effects. But there are times, the unfortunate times, when loss of love can come with such unimaginable and unexpected violence that it feels nothing short of throwing a hand grenade into someone’s soul.

The last one is particularly dangerous. It can match nearly the same amount of madness love itself can induce. The violence that couples with grief has every potential to make something docile, something harmless become an altogether different kind of unstable force. Tunnel vision is likely to occur where something is set as the main source of the rage that comes with it and blurs everything else around it. This can lead to a situation that might cause an individual to do something they cannot come back from. Grief itself is already enough to make someone do things they normally would not, but grieving the violent loss of someone who was loved very deeply—it can be maddening and soul crushing. 

The loss is nothing short of a decimation of an entire universe.

Steps thundered as Jack Robinson pursued the men who had run when the fight one deck over broke out. He managed to subdue a raging crew member before he noticed the runaways and Jack went into pursuit with little thought of his constable or the potential dangers in moving forward without backup. So he went, gun tightly in his grip and moved further down into the belly of the large ship. He followed where he could hear their thunderous steps, as if at that point getting away seemed to be the goal rather than continue the confrontation.

He caught up to one as he tripped and Jack grabbed him, hauling him face first into a wall and ducked away from a stray elbow that was aiming for his face. He held his gun the wrong way around, hitting the taller man in the back of the head with the handle hard enough to incapacitate him. Fist fighting may seem manly, but in reality, it is imperative not to break the little bones in one’s hands on someone’s face lest be put at an unfortunate disadvantage. The smarter choice is still utilizing what is at hand and finding whatever hard surface will best serve purpose.

Once he dropped the man on the ground, another grabbed him by the back of his coat. A punch landed heavily on his side but Jack’s elbow sprang up, catching his opponent’s face. Then he turned, getting hold of him just as he bent down to grab his nose and shoved him face first into the top of a thick steel railing. His forehead bounced with a crack and Jack let him stand, watching curiously as he wobbled on his feet for a moment before dropping sideways to the floor next to his mate.

Breathing heavily, Jack looked around, trying to spot the third when he noticed movement on the deck below. He didn’t hesitate, picking his gun up from the ground where he had dropped it and ran down the stairs at the end of the turn. He noted the large room, the sacks piled neatly on top of one another and assumed this was where the more legitimate side of the business was being kept. Jack made sure his steps were silent, the soles of his shoes landing precisely upon metal until he reached the landing. There was a scuffling and the sound of something like heavy breathing and Jack’s ears strained to follow it. He held the gun at his side, creeping along corners until he was in the shadows. The closer he got to the breathing, the tighter his grip on the gun in his hand became.

Once he knew he was one corner away, his eyes straining in the limited lighting, Jack took a deep breath then let it out slowly and moved out. He took the turn, pressed against the sacks, and held his gun out further in front of him until he knew it was clear. Once he sure no one was waiting to take a shot at him, he moved only to stop when he saw what was waiting for him. His eyes widened once he realized where the sound of heavy breathing was coming from and what was causing it.

“You.”

The word fell dully from his mouth as he looked at the pathetic form of Sidney Fletcher, hogtied by what looked to be his own belt from his coat, his expensive silk tie wrapped over his mouth and around his head to keep him silent but still with enough slack to allow room to breathe. This was particularly kind considering his nose looked to be broken, judging from the drying blood and the spectacular bruising that was already spreading on his face. He writhed on the ground, screaming into his gag and sweating profusely. There was a deep cut on his cheekbone that was left bleeding and some more bruises that were beginning to form as far as Jack could see. He knelt down, glancing around to see if anyone was approaching.

“Looks like you need a friend, Fletcher,” he said casually and this only seemed to make the other man scream louder into his gag which did little to help him. He was almost amused as he looked down on him, “Run into the particularly nasty sort?”

Fletcher nodded as vigorously as he could, his eyes bulging as he looked around. He started to struggle more, his chest and stomach rolling against the hard surface and his socked feet flailing in whatever limited movement was available to him. Jack tilted his head to the side, catching sight of the front of his shirt where his once stark white button-down was torn in pieces, leaving his sweat-soaked singlet visible. A few feet away, Jack could see his coat, suit jacket and shoes as if they had been tossed. Someone had done a number on this rich man’s expensive garb.

“Where is she?” Jack asked quietly. “I won’t help you if you don’t cooperate and right now, this is more important than returning your body into proper circulation.”

Fletcher closed his eyes and hung his head, breathing heavily through the soaked silk. His fractured arm was being stretched at an angle that had potential to turn it into a full break, shoulders were burning and his legs were folded in a way they were most definitely not used to. He tried to shake his head, moving his body from one side to the other and let out pitiful sounds. Jack almost rolled his eyes, standing up and looked around the large room. They were definitely in the main hold of the ship and he had seen the large expanse of the area.

“Ngnhnnng!” now the tied-up businessman just sounded angry. “Ngngng!”

Jack looked over the knots that were keeping his legs and wrists together. His hands had turned red but his socks were keeping the makeshift ropes from chafing at his skin. The knots were expertly done by someone with obvious knowledge on the subject and despite the situation, Jack found himself feeling an immense wave of relief. He could only imagine one person thinking this was the best way to leave a captive properly incapacitated and ready for the police to pick up. Some twisted form of gift-wrapping with punishment. Jack could only think of person who would consider this to be a proper solution and he breathed out in relief. She was somewhere, that was clear enough which was more than he could have ever imagined moments ago. 

It was as if a dark shroud had been lifted from when he had left the bloody cabin. Suddenly, breathing didn’t seem as difficult and Jack’s knees would have given out on him with the joy he felt knowing she was very much alive somewhere in the damned ship. He would know her handy work anywhere and if she still had enough sense to secure her captor and make her getaway, then that meant she was still well enough in one piece to function.

Jack looked around, his eyes scanning the dim holding area. She would be trying to get off the ship if she hadn’t already, he was sure. More times than he would like to count, she had proven time and time again she would never be the type to sit around and be rescued. So knowing her, Jack wouldn’t be surprised if she was already outside sipping cocoa with Dot in the taxicab waiting for the men to come out. He smiled at the thought, feeling considerably lighter and turned back to the agonized Fletcher who was still trying to breathe through his restraints.

“You really ought to be more careful about what sort you mingle with,” Jack said casually, taking out his own handcuffs and leaned over Fletcher. He worked the knots over, recognizing the type easily and understanding the best way to undo them. How she learned to tie such excellent knots, he wanted to know but some part of him wondered if perhaps it was best he didn’t. He almost smiled.

Fletcher screamed into his gag when Jack moved on to his arms. He raised an eyebrow, touching the man’s forearm for a second only to elicit the same reaction. He prodded the area, ignoring the pained sounds coming from the other man and surmised that there was some significant injury to the particular spot.

“You’ll need a doctor for that,” Jack said casually. “What’d you do, eh? Must’ve made someone angry enough to put you in considerable pain.”

He freed Fletcher and got him on his knees, allowing him to catch his breath and get his arms and legs back in order before slapping the restraints on him. Now that he had more access to inspect the man’s body, Jack noted the torn button-down shirt, large swaths missing but otherwise the area was uninjured. The same could not be said about the rest of him, it seemed. The majority of his face was covered in blood, the trail from his surely broken nose and the cut on his cheekbone leaving him to look like a right bloody mess. He held his one arm at an odd angle, the one that had been injured enough for him to howl when touched. He’d had a hell of a number done on him but Jack could not find it in himself to feel bad for the greedy criminal. He left the gag on.

Jack was in the process of helping Fletcher up when suddenly a gunshot erupted out of nowhere. The inspector ducked down, taking his captive with him and dropped them low, closer to the ground. He secured the steel around the other man’s wrists before taking his gun out and looking down the most direct route to them to see if a threat was incoming. The small space barely large enough for two people to pass through was empty.

Not too far away, the sound of thundering footsteps came and Jack held his gun at the ready. Jack looked around, one hand clamped around Fletcher’s uninjured arm.

He was making a sweep of the area when something caught his attention and Jack looked down, realizing he’d stepped on something. He pushed Fletcher to the side firmly to keep him from blocking what little light there was, leaning down slight to examine what it might be. It was wet and slightly sticky, a small dark pool surrounded by smaller drops. Jack’s eyes widened and his head shot up towards Fletcher’s direction when he understood what it could only possibly be.

“Whose blood is that?”

He ripped the restraint from around the criminal’s mouth and Fletcher winced a little before letting out a small, dry chuckle that grated perfectly on the inspector’s exposed nerves. Jack tightened his grip on him, shaking him slightly. 

“You really have to ask?” Fletcher snickered, his eyes a little dazed and cloudy. “I shot her, Robinson…that bitch gave as good as she got but she’s not bulletproof.”

And just like that, what little light that had returned by the knowledge of her continued existence was swallowed up once more by the sudden darkness. Jack’s vision dimmed, his backfoot planted itself firmly on the ground and his hand tightened around the butt of his gun. Fletcher wore a cocky smirk displayed generously on his face, chuckling under his breath as he watched the obvious turmoil the other man was going through.

“Sanderson was right…you really are gone for her, aren’t you, Jackie boy?”

A sneer appeared on the inspector’s face and just as Hugh Collins spotted them, calling out to him.

“Right here, Collins!”

“Coming, sir!”

“Better get a move on, Inspector Robinson…” Fletcher sneered. “I’ll be out before the sun comes out.”

Jack withstood the taunting, flagged Hugh to him and waited for the constable to reach them and take the prisoner off his hands. He counted calmly under his breath, willing his temper to stay in check and reminded himself not to let the pathetic piece of mess get under his skin.

“Once I’m out…I’ll find your Miss Fisher and next time,” the businessman leaned forward with a dark smile. If he was aware of the effect he was having and how he was riling up the man of the law, it didn’t seem to bother him one jot. “There won’t be any running again…I’ll shoot her knees out first.”

Jack grit his teeth, turning away from Hugh who was fast coming towards them and turned to face Fletcher. He kept his face void of any expression, loosened his grip on the other man’s uninjured arm and swiped his foot discreetly but swiftly from under him. There was a yelp and then a thud followed by a sickening snap. 

The echo of Fletcher’s scream bounced around in the belly of the ship.

o0o

Phryne was having a hard time keeping herself upright.

Back against the wall, hair plastered to her scalp and forehead, she was beginning to feel the effects of disorientation, sleep deprivation and the brutal isolation of the last twenty-four hours. Her hip had seemed to go numb but her leg was beginning to follow and the lack of rest and constant anxiety in a heightened emotional state was taking its toll. Her stockinged foot was beginning to slip and her grip on the gun in her hand was becoming harder and harder to maintain. She was keeping an ear out, hearing the distant voices and occasional gunfire. She thought about moving towards it, if only to get some much-needed aid.

Counting on the cavalry to have a timely arrival was beginning to look more and more like the unwise choice. She was so sure that if the police had swarmed the port and boarded the ship, they would be sweeping through everything by now. Someone should have found her already—a constable doing the grunt work of clearing the lower decks or someone else. Phryne swallowed a groan, letting her head loll to the side slightly, her eyes nearly rolling back in her skull. She was exhausted beyond measure, in pain and in need of so much she wasn’t sure if she wanted water, food or a bath at the first pass. Maybe altogether, she thought, a small smile on her lips.

She began to move, pushing herself off against the wall when she heard movement. Phryne was on high alert immediately, her ears perking up and she raised the gun higher at her side. Loud hurried footsteps were coming closer and she crouched further into a darkened cramped corner, pushing herself against a wall of sacks. She held her breath when she heard the sound come closer and closer. 

What little light there was that she could see at the end of the small space she occupied was suddenly blocked by a body and heavy breathing. Phryne kept her head down, squinting in the dark to see who it was. The figure crouched low, back to her and looking as if he was peering around the corner. Definitely not part of the boarding party, she thought darkly. Her unlucky streak just seemed to have no end.

Focused as she was on the intruder in her little safe space, Phryne failed to remember the rebar at her side. She adjusted her numbed foot, moving it slightly to one side and accidentally nudged the makeshift weapon. She wasn’t fast enough, failing to grab the bar and in the process of trying, aggravated the wound on her hip. She bit her tongue to keep from crying out but it was too late—the reinforcement bar fell and made a loud clang. The figure at the entryway of the small space jumped and turned, peering into the darkness.

Phryne didn’t move, keeping herself pressed deep into the dark corner but the figure was moving closer. She bit the inside of her cheek and held onto the gun tightly, ready to take aim and fire. She couldn’t see who it was but it was definitely one of the men from the crew and his focus was on her, moving closer to her and further into the small space. She breathed shallowly, hoping he would think it was nothing and keep his attention back onto the police he was looking out for.

“You!”

She almost jumped, recognizing Leery’s voice. It was the same man who’d taken her to the captain after the abduction. Phryne remembered his degenerate looks, his groping hands and the way he manhandled her like she was nothing but another sack of sugar. She set her back straight and her arms raised, aiming for the best place to incapacitate a man his size while shooting in the darkness. 

“Been looking for you, silver thing.”

Phryne tried not to flinch, keeping silent and waited until he was close enough. He was a viable threat, that was for certain but she didn’t want to have to use more force than absolutely necessary. She would give him time to change his mind. In the funnel she had left for him to approach, he would have little place to run should she find herself having no choice but to fire her weapon.

“I have a gun—I will shoot you.”

“Go ahead, pretty bird.”

Her teeth dug in too deeply into the inside of her cheek and it began to bleed, “I am warning you…leave now and I will let you go.”

“No one’s going anywh—”

There was a loud gunshot and Phryne jumped, pulling the gun back instinctively and look at it dumbly for a moment. She hadn’t fired, she was more than sure of that but the sound of anguished pain coming from Leery also made it more than clear someone had. She watched in wonder as he was yanked back and dragged away from her only to be thrown on the side where another body dived after it. She saw the silhouette of a rifle point upwards into the air and before she could begin to decide whether to raise alarms or not, a small torch light came on.

“Phryne?”

A breath hitched in her throat and for a moment, she could not believe what she was hearing. It was so unexpected to hear that voice but there was no mistaking it. Phryne hadn’t for one second considered he would be there, if only because she never thought he would be the one to find her.

“I’m here, love…come on out.”

A tear made its way down her cheek and she dropped the gun with a loud clatter, “I…I can’t.”

“What’s wrong? Wait…I’m coming. Don’t shoot, alright?”

Phryne let out a small laugh, “I won’t…I promise.”

The familiar figure came closer and she was glad he kept the torch low on the ground and avoided shining it right into her eyes. She breathed a shuddering sigh of relief when she saw his face, lit brighter by the torch in his hand than anything else in the whole damnable ship.

Jonathon reached forward, placing a hand gently on her cold cheek. “You alright, old thing?”

Phryne leaned into the touch, “Just a scratch…but I’ll need some assistance.”

“Come on, then,” Jonathon reached out and took her hand in his. “Can you walk?”

“I’m not sure…my leg is asleep,” she muttered. “I need…everything.”

“Well, we have everything at home,” Jonathon said lightly as if he hadn’t just been caught in a firefight and scrimmages with thugs, as if he hadn’t spent the last hours fearing he had once again lost her and for good this time. “I believe you almost missed dinner but if we hurry, I’m sure Mr. Butler will have something hot and delicious waiting for you.”

Phryne groaned and held onto his hand tightly, “That sounds heavenly.”

“Anything to report?”

“My hip,” she responded. “Just…my hip.”

“Alright then, how about you hold on to me and we’ll get out of here, yeah?”

“Sounds perfect,” she sighed and allowed him to guide her out, keeping one firm arm around her waist as he helped her walk out of her dark little corner. Once they reached the end of the small pathway, Jonathon turned to her, brushing the soaked fringe from her forehead and tried to give her the easiest smile he could muster.

“Oy! What the hell happened to you?”

Phryne turned her head, catching the horrified look on Bert’s face as he eyed her blood covered leg. She looked down, biting her bottom lip, realizing then that her makeshift bandage hadn’t quite held as well as she wanted it to. It explained the numbing and the weakening she had been fighting off.

Jonathon shook his coat off and slipped them over her cold arms and settled the thick fabric over her shoulders. He eyed the wound that was being hidden by the blood-soaked rags, her unusually filthy appearance and the perspiration that was covering her entire body. It could be a minor gunshot wound, but it was still an injury and Jonathon didn’t have to go to medical school to know that blood loss and shock was not something to be trifled with. He wrapped her warmly in his coat, careful not to jostle her injury and noted her stockinged feet.

“It seems you’ve lost your shoes, darling,” Jonathon said. “I’ll have to carry you out of here to keep those pretty toes from further strain.”

“How gallant,” Phryne responded quietly, her voice slurred and the syllables dragging slightly.

Jonathon looked at Bert who hadn’t missed the unusual speech pattern and suddenly looked even more alarmed than before, “We need to get her to the motorcar. She needs a hospital.”

“Right,” Bert nodded, grabbing Jonathon’s discarded rifle. He watched as the soldier carefully tucked Phryne’s limbs to her front before slipping his arms under her knees and her back, lifting her off the ground easily in one move. He held her close on her uninjured side, apologizing quietly when she let out a groan of pain as her wound was jostled underneath the coat’s thick fabric. 

Phryne shook her head, tucking her face into his neck and let out a muffled cry of pain, clawing at his shoulder with pale dirty fingers. He stood still for a moment, letting her body adjust to the position and making sure it would not cause her more undue hurt. There were mutterings of protest from the injured woman but she didn’t fight, merely rolling her head on the man’s shoulder and looked at Bert with heavy-lidded eyes.

“Did you—did you find the girls?” she looked confused for a moment, a frown creasing along her brow. “The girls…they’re here.”

“Coppers will finish this, miss—you need the hospital more’n they do,” Bert said as kindly as he could then turned to Jonathon with a hint of uncertainty. “You got ‘er?”

“Just get us back to the motorcar,” Jonathon responded. “She can’t lose consciousness.”

“I’m…fine,” Phryne muttered uselessly. “Just tired. Where is Joan?”

Jonathon moved amongst the stacks, trying very hard not to jostle her too much as he moved with her. Bert kept his gun up in case they were to encounter resistance and raced up the stairs ahead. They met Cec along the way who was securing the captured crew and told him to stay back there while they rushed their mistress to the hospital. They would have to send the cavalry for them, knowing two cops and one civilian couldn’t possibly transport all the people that had been captured that night.

Dot was waiting patiently in the car, crouched low and keeping vigilant. Once she saw Bert running up ahead, she sat up, letting out a breath of relief seeing at least one of the boys were alright. When she saw Jonathon walking some distance behind him, carrying a sizable bundle, she stopped and held her breath.

“We’re goin’ to the hospital,” was all Bert said, slipping behind the wheel and drove off into the direction where Jonathon had stopped and waited. 

“What’s going on? Who’s hurt, Bert? Wh—”

“Open the door!”

Dot immediately did so, letting out a gasp when she realized who Jonathon was carrying. Phryne was bleary eyed, covered in dirt, blood, sweat and grime. There was a bruise on her left cheekbone and she was bundled up in a large dark coat. There were red flecks on her face but Dot didn’t have time to examine her further as Jonathon slid into the backseat with her and the wounded woman let out a small gasp, whining slightly as her breathing hitched up a notch, letting out a pained whimper.

“She’s fine, she’s fine,” Jonathon was saying, slamming the door shut behind him and instructed Dot on getting her torn stocking-clad legs over the seat. She did so, but then let out a gasp, wide eyed, as Jonathon opened the coat and revealed her mistress was in nothing but a very dirty set of undergarments, torn in places and bloody in most. “Get a move on, Bert! Let’s go!”

The harried red-ragger peeled out of the port, driving as fast as he could like a madman, leaving behind the hellhole they had just emerged from. He kept the lights bright and concentrated on the fastest route that would take them to the closest medical facility which just happened to be St. Jude’s Hospital. It helped that he was quite familiar with the place as he was currently residing in a boarding house in the same area.

Jonathon muttered an apology to Phryne as he lowered the edge of one side of her tap pants where most of the blood seemed to be, revealing a man’s leather belt secured around her hip, holding a blood-soaked rag against her side. Holding her against him, Jonathon let out a muttered curse as Dot undid the buckle carefully then lifted the rag to reveal the injury which only seemed to aggravate it even more.

Phryne let out a strangled gasp, “No…please, it hurts!”

“I know, I’m sorry, love, I’m sorry,” Jonathon said sincerely, speaking into her hair. “I just need to look, alright? Just need to see.”

She squirmed in his arms, pushing her head back against his, “Jonathon, stop it!”

“I know it hurts, but we need to stop this bleeding, Phryne…we’re almost there, old bean. Almost there.”

Tears sprung into Dot’s eyes, but she swallowed the urge to cry. She pulled the scarf from around her neck, folded it up quickly and showed it to Jonathon. He looked at her and nodded, “You will need to press down. It’s beginning to bleed again…can you do that?”

Dot nodded vigorously, wide-eyed and terrified beyond measure, “Y-yes.”

“Press down,” Jonathon said firmly to her. “It won’t be pleasant but she can’t keep losing blood.”

The young woman nodded and placed the folded fabric against where the blood seemed to be coming from. She wasn’t accustomed to seeing wounds but there was so much blood, both fresh and drying, that it was hard to see. They only had the streetlamps they were passing by for light and they could not afford to stop. So she went where it was most logical and pressed down on the wound where she thought it could most likely be.

Phryne let out a scream, kicking at Dot out of reflex more than anything as she tried to fight off the renewed pain. Jonathon held on to her, keeping her against him and spoke into her hair as comfortingly as he could. Tears fell from Dot’s eyes though she kept her hands firmly on the wound, trying to ignore the crying and the begging and the obvious pain she was causing the woman she so adored and loved.

“Hang on, miss, we’re almost there—you just hang on!” Bert said under his breath, wishing he could close his ears against the sound coming from the backseat. He could feel the thrashing about, the desperate cries asking to make the pain stop and this only served to make him hold his foot down harder on the gas pedal. The sooner they got their mistress to the hospital, the sooner they could stop the pain.

“Dot, please…”

“I’m so sorry, miss, I’m so sorry,” Dot spoke with a trembling voice. “We’re almost there.”

Phryne’s eyes were clouded with tears and pain, “I want Mac. Find Mac...”

“We will,” Dot said quietly. “We will, miss. I promise.”

“The girls,” Phryne gasped, wincing through the pain. “The girls…did they find them?”

Dot looked up at Jonathon who shook his head slightly, “They’re looking, Miss. They’ll find them but they got all the crims out first. They’ll find them.”

“Joan…she can’t see,” Phryne whispered, breathing heavily with her eyes tightly shut. “I sent her to hide. Find her, please…she’s scared.”

“We’ll find her,” Dot responded with a firm tone. “They’re safe, miss. They’re safe because of you.”

“The convent…they need to look into the convent,” Phryne muttered, turning her head against Jonathon’s more gently this time. She opened her eyes, looking at him earnestly. “The girls…they’re selling them. They take them from the convent and then they sell them. The Gratitude dinner…remember?”

“I remember, love,” he nodded, recalling their last conversation before leaving Wardlow that night. “I remember…you were right, weren’t you? Something was funny.”

“Not so funny,” Phryne whispered, blinking back tears. “Not so funny at all.”

o0o

Jack got onto the gangplank just in time to see the black taxicab speed off.

He watched it until it was gone, his heart in his throat and the soles of his feet itching to run after it. He had come across Cec who informed him where they were taking Phryne, having just caught sight of Jonathon and Bert as they rushed up above deck. A part of Jack wanted to go after them, to find out how badly Phryne had been hurt but he couldn’t. He stood glued in place, torn between leaving and staying to do exactly as he was supposed to. He had a number of crew members either shot or beaten to a pulp, a ship’s captain probably dying of an infection from a shabbily treated gunshot wound, a missing scullery maid, a criminal mastermind weeping on the lower decks and one stone faced Chief Commissioner of Police still tied up on the upper deck of the ship. 

Officially, there was only him and Hugh but with just Cec as their addition, they were far outnumbered even though the criminals had already been overcome. Jack would need to call the evening shift of City South Police Station as well as City Central and Russel Street. He didn’t know who the current deputy commissioner was but Jack needed whoever he was to update the brass on their newly minted and newly arrested chief commissioner. It would most likely be the shortest tenure for a Chief Commissioner of Police for Victoria, lasting less than twenty-four hours and Jack was prepared for the inevitable backlash and disbelief.

He forced himself to turn around, getting back on deck of the Pandarus and met Hugh who was carefully helping to the ground a pale and perspiring Sidney Fletcher who was in obvious pain. He was gritting his teeth and glaring daggers at Jack, holding his now broken arm to his chest.

“We’re going to need backup,” Jack said, barely sparing a glance to the injured man. “The office we checked into today…there’s a telephone in there.”

“I can do that, sir,” Hugh said firmly. “I’ll call for some medical assistance too.”

“Take your time,” Jack said, a tinge of bitterness in his tone. “Is everyone accounted for?”

“Yes, but…no sign of the girl,” Hugh sighed. “I’m not sure she’s still here.”

“We’ll search the ship—whatever they’re hiding, we’ll find it,” this time he did look at Fletcher who was rolling his eyes at them. “You’re already going down for abduction and kidnapping, you know. Might as well make it easier for yourself and confess.”

“Shove it,” Fletcher spat. “There’s nothing on this damned ship! It’s sugar, you idiot!”

“Eh, Inspector!”

Hugh and Jack looked up, surprised to find Cec coming towards them with one of the captives. This one was small and missing a few teeth, crying as he walked with the red-ragger. He looked quite pitiful, cuts on his face, neck, an open wound on his arm and knuckles. Hugh’s eyes widened when he recognized the man which the inspector did not fail to notice when he turned to look at him.

“What—” Jack began to ask but his constable merely shook his head.

“My new mate here has got something to say,” Cec said with an easy-going smile, patting his new friend gently on the back none too gently. “Said he’s willing to cooperate if you’re open to giving him leniency.”

“Shut you mouth, you imbecile!” Fletcher spat. “They have nothing!”

“They got the lady!” he screeched, bouncing in Cec’s arms. “They got ‘er! Alive! I’m not goin’ down for this. We was only supposed to get the ship t’sea!”

“You’re a goddamn rat! I’ll kill you.”

“They almost killed me!” he pointed to his torn face. “I’m not goin’ down for this!”

Jack rolled his eyes, shooting a glare at Fletcher’s direction and motioned for Cec to stand by him. He and Hugh walked the prisoner to the other side of the ship until they were well and away from hearing distance of the raging businessman who had nothing but threats to spit out.

“What do you know?” 

“You’ll go easy on me, yeah?” he asked, whimpering slightly. “We had nothin’ t’do with that woman. Nothin’. They just took ‘er ‘ere last night. Never said nothin’ ‘bout a woman!”

“Fine, fine,” Jack said tiredly, holstering his weapon. “Now, what do you know?”

“You keep that madman off me! You hear? I don’ want that madman near me!” he almost seemed hysterical. “Came for that woman, he did. Once he had ‘er, he left. He ain’t no copper!”

Jack looked at Hugh who simply said, “Mr. Lofthouse, sir.”

“Right,” Jack said, placing his hands on his hips. “He is not part of the constabulary so you won’t need to deal with him at all. You have my word. Now, what do you want to say?”

“There’s girls here…poor girls, worth nothin’, do nothin’ and no family to miss ‘em,” he explained. “We take ‘em into sea…they’re still ‘ere. I can show you.”

“Girls? How many?” Jack asked.

“A lot…we’re just one short of a shipment,” he muttered. “’was supposed to be that girl, but that crazy bitch let her off the ship after she killed Captain DeVere.” He looked around furtively, hunching his shoulders slightly, “There’s hidden compartments down there…got them girls crammed in.”

“And what about the girl they brought in with the woman?” Jack asked.

“The blind one? Should be in there with ‘em,” he bit the nail off one filthy finger. “The cap’s on ice…dead. That silver bitch killed him…dunno how but we left ‘em together and then he was dead. Sheila looked like a bloody mess with all that blood on ‘er but she didn’t have a single scratch…scared the daylights out of the men ‘ere she did.”

“And what about the driver?” Jack asked after a moment. “They were taken with a car.”

“Dead…on ice with the cap,” he shrugged. “Old man took a hit and Butch said he never got up.”

“And the car?”

“Dunno…it was fancy but I dunno.”

“How long has this been going on? Do you know?”

The snitch shook his head, “Got nothin’. Was supposed t’be our second run…rest of ‘em abandoned ship when DeVere wound up a corpse and the suit with money didn’t seem to know his arse from his elbow. We stayed…needed the money…well, we ain’t gettin’ paid now.”

Jack looked at Hugh, “We’ll definitely need to call for backup. Get…everyone here. We need to find those girls and Joan. We’ll need all the manpower we can get.”

Hugh nodded and left, running across the deck and made his way off the ship to find the closest telephone. Jack stayed on deck with the snitch, watching him as he poked gingerly at the wound on his face.

“You were talking about a madman?” he asked after a moment.

“That tall one…cut me up ‘til I told ‘im where the woman was,” he grumbled bitterly. “He stomped on Wooly’s bleeding shoulder where he got shot…that’s one sick bastard right there.”

Jack looked over his wounds, noting they were mostly superficial with the minimum amount of very slow bleeding. “They don’t look very deep.”

Insulted that his suffering seemed to be brushed aside so easily, the snitched reared back, “That crazy dog cut me up like I was nothin’! It hurt! You let crazy bastards run with your lot?”

“No,” Jack shook his head. “As far as the constabulary is concerned…we boarded the ship, me and my constable, just as you happened to boarded by an independent party who came to retrieve the woman your people abducted. One has nothing to do with the other…just a really unlucky night for the crew of the Pandarus.”

“But-but you were workin’ the lot!”

“No, we’re not,” Jack shrugged. “We came here on our own accord without the blessing of our superior who, as it turns out, is part of your little enterprise. The rest is just…noise.”

“That’s bleeding insane!”

The inspector shrugged, “Bureaucracy. As it stands…there’s a whole mess here. I don’t even know who my boss is.”

“Your lot is as crazy as the other.”

Jack let out a humorless laugh under his breath, “You’re not wrong about that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincerest apologies for the very delayed update. My grandmother contracted the virus and is currently still in the process of recovering from the after-effects. They expect this to be an issue for the next six months. Unsurprisingly, the near death of the matron of the family has brought about an admittedly insane reckoning within the ranks and I am in the thick of it. Between doctors, lawyers, intellectually challenged cousins and one stupidly unnecessary car wreck—it has been quite an eventful and severely stressful month.


	17. Chapter 17

Elizabeth MacMillan lost track of time.

Plain and simple, she lost track of time and forgot to go home. It was very late, close to midnight when one of the nurses burst through her darkened office door and found her with her head buried in a book under a bright lamp. The good doctor was startled out of her reverie, nearly hitting her head on the only source of light she had left herself in the room and glared at the woman, murder in her eyes at the intrusion and lack of proper decorum. She was seconds away from raining down all sorts of hell on the poor young nurse just through pure reflex when she finally caught her breath and spoke.

“Patient for you, doctor! A Miss Fisher!”

Mac stood up, forgetting instantly she wanted to trample the small female invading her space, “Phryne? What for?”

“We don’t know…she won’t let us near her and,” she looked uncertain for a moment. “She has men with her—they have guns. She said she doesn’t want anyone but you.”

“Damn it, Phryne,” Mac muttered, moving towards the door and grabbing her coat on the way out. The nurse had to jog to keep up with her, trailing after her as quickly as she could in her dreary uniform. They really were most impractical, Mac had always thought, but then again, she’d never liked anything with skirts.

She slipped into the waiting elevator, nodding at the lift operator who was mercifully still on duty. The nurse slipped in, breathing heavily as she stood next to Mac. Bright yellow locks of hair slipped out of her bun and she quickly trapped it in her fingers, taking out a hairpin from one of her pockets and tucked it out of view.

“Do you know why she’s been brought in?” Mac asked, glancing at the woman.

“I’m afraid not, Dr. MacMillan,” she answered. “A tall man came in carrying her and she’s all covered up in a large coat. Everyone else with her seems to be fine but they’re all obviously worried about her.”

“Phryne in a coat…being carried by a man,” Mac groaned slightly. “This better not be some escapade in the boudoir gone awry.”

The woman’s cheeks went bright red, “Uhm…”

“Pretend you didn’t hear that,” Mac said briskly. “Any visible injuries?”

“None that we could see…but one of the nurses think her feet were covered in blood, maybe?”

Mac frowned, “Blood?”

“We…” she stopped, biting the inside of her cheek. “I don’t want to gossip, but we think she’s the missing woman everyone’s been talking about all night.”

“Missing?” Mac frown deepened. “What do you mean missing?”

“There were board members here tonight, had some sort of meeting…y’know, like they do?” she shrugged. “They came out talking about a missing woman…said she’d been missing all day and they thought something bad happened to her.”

“I didn’t hear about it,” Mac grumbled. “They said Phryne was missing?”

“We never heard the name but one of the nurses mentioned it was the niece of one of the board members…” she mumbled, clamming up slightly. “So, one of the doctors mentioned that she’s the niece of Mrs. Stanley.”

Mac shook her head, “That makes no sense…how could Phryne have been missing? And why wouldn’t I have known about it?”

“I don’t know, ma’am…”

Mac glanced at her once more, “It was a rhe—never mind.”

The doors were opened and Mac rushed out, noticing immediately the small crowd that was gathered outside one of the rooms. Medical personnel were not so subtly peeking inside, which irritated the doctor to high heavens. It was nighttime and there weren’t many doctors or administrators around so it was easy enough for the less disciplined lot to get out of hand easier. Still, a patient’s privacy was important above everything else and it grated even more on Mac’s nerves at the thought that they were invading the privacy of someone she cared about.

“I don’t think this is proper hospital procedure, crowding halls and leaving patients to fend for themselves,” her voice was cool but the snap in her tone was easily recognized and the crowd immediately dispersed. Nurses suddenly remembered their patients on the other side of the building and a stray young doctor or two seemed to be very interested in watching paint peeling off walls.

Moving through the now cleared hallway, Mac was immediately met by a harried looking Bert who was chewing on one end of an unlit rolled tobacco. From under his jacket she spotted the gun tucked into his waistband and there was a hollow look in his eyes that she had never quite seen before.

“You gotta get in there!” Bert practically barked at her, motioning towards the room she was heading straight for. “She won’t let anyone else touch her. Where you been?”

“Working and—I’m not even supposed to be here! Why are you?” Mac snapped, taking brisk long strides that the red-ragger had to keep up with. “What’s going on? What’s happened to Phryne?”

“We think she got shot.”

“You _think_ she—” Mac almost stopped, wide green eyes nearly ready to pop out of their sockets. She reached out sideways, grabbing the man’s collar, not caring one bit he was armed and yanked down hard. “You let her get shot! Where the hell were—”

“We had nothin’ to do with it—oy!” Bert tried to shake her off but she hang on, digging claw-like fingers into his garb. “We spent all bloody night looking for her! Some bastard took her, eh!”

Mac frowned, remembering an odd telephone call from much earlier that day, “Prudence…oh, damn it, Prudence called me to ask if Phryne was with me…”

“Yeah,” Bert muttered, finally prying her fingers away from him once she loosened them and nearly stumbled as he lost momentum walking beside her. “Just got to her…looks bad, doc, but she keeps saying she’s fine.”

“She’s conscious and talking,” Mac said, increasing speed in her steps. “If she’s been shot, then that is a very good sign. Anything else?”

“She’s all bruised and scratched up,” Bert said, shaking his head slightly. “But there’s blood everywhere…my upholstery won’t hold up.”

“She paid for that upholstery so it’s only right she gets to destroy it,” Mac responded simply, shoving doors open that would take them into the treatment room that had garnered so much attention. 

Once Mac and Bert were inside, they didn’t miss the two nervous looking people in the room—one baby-faced doctor and a pretty young nurse. Phryne was wrapped up in a dark coat on the bed to the left of the room, a mutinous expression on her face and Jonathon looking as helpless as anyone could look. Dot stood at her mistress’ flank, gloved hands buried somewhere deep in the coat covering Phryne, biting her bottom lip.

“Mac! Where have you been?” her dear friend’s voice was unusually loud in the small room.

“Reading,” Mac said simply, stopping by a basin to wash her hands thoroughly and efficiently. “I hear you’ve been causing quite the ruckus, Miss Fisher.”

“You know me, always have to make an entrance,” Mac noted the slightly slurred speech and the paleness of her skin coupled with the sweating. “Darling, I think I may be in need of your expertise…”

Mac glanced at the doctor who simply pointed at the patient that had somehow scared him frozen, “Gunshot wound to the left hip—we think? Patient refused examination. Her companion explained—she’s still bleeding!”

“Well, she should be seeing as she is still alive,” Mac said simply, moving to stand next to Phryne on the bed. She gently extracted Dot’s hand from the coat and carefully unwrapped what awaited her. She had been in her profession long enough to have mastered quite the poker face but even then she almost faltered when she saw what had been kept so insistently private upon their arrival. 

The undergarments had seen better days and the blood-stained pile of cloth on her side more than spoke of what may be hidden underneath. Mac noted the bruising and cuts along the skin and tried to keep herself as clinically detached as possible, telling herself this wasn’t her oldest and dearest friend, torn and battered in places she never should have been. When Mac pushed the coat further open, she noted some bruising on her lower half that put her on high alert, spotting them easily even under the dried bloodstains and the grime.

Her head shot up and green eyes met knowing blue and the silent confirmation she never wanted came to pass.

“I’ll need the room,” Mac said after a beat, tearing her eyes away from Phryne’s. “Jonathon, Dot—I’ll need to finish my examination. Why don’t you two wait outside?”

Dot shook her head, “I’ll stay.”

Phryne looked at the younger woman, “Dot, dear…it’s alright.”

“But, Miss—”

Turning away and giving them some privacy to talk, Mac worked quietly in the background, asking the nurse and the young doctor to bring her everything she would need, including gloves and some antiseptics. She prepared herself for what was coming, keeping herself focused by going over the list of things she required over and over again. This wasn’t the first time she would be treating her dear friend as a patient, but this was by far the worst. A gunshot wound was nothing to sneeze at and Mac wondered if perhaps she was being too cavalier about the whole thing, though Phryne was clearly not up to making it easier or have the process come at a less sedate pace.

“I’ll be fine, Dot,” Phryne was saying to her young companion. “Hardly feel it at all anymore…why don’t you run home and get me some change of clothes? Something light, hmm? This might take some time.”

Dot looked a little lost, “I think I should stay?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Phryne wrinkled her nose slightly. “But I would like to come home wearing something more substantial. I wouldn’t trust anyone but you to make sure I’m most comfortable for the trip home…would you please, Dot?”

Her cheeks pinked lightly at that, flushed by the generous words more now than by her evident anxiety. “Oh, of course, Miss…I can find something for you, I’m sure.” 

“Darling, you’ll take her, won’t you?” Phryne turned her charms on the man at her side. Even covered in sweat, blood and grime, she was still quite the entrancing creature.

“Are you sure, love?” Jonathon knew better than to fight her when she felt most compelled.

Phryne nodded, “Yes…come back for me later?”

“I can do that,” he nodded, a deep worried furrow in his brow. “You’ll be alright?” 

“Mac’s with me,” Phryne gave him a smile. “Go on with Dot, darling. You can’t do anything for me here. Make sure Mr. Butler has something hot and filling for me?” 

“Are you sure?”

“Best keep them busy,” Phryne said in a low voice, reaching out to squeeze his forearm lightly. “In the state he is in, Bert might pick a fight with a poor unsuspecting doctor here…I honestly cannot have that on my conscience on top of everything.”

“I understand,” Jonathon pressed a kiss into her damp hair. “We’ll return as soon as we can. Behave, alright?”

“As best as I possibly can,” she smiled, giving him a gentle push. “Go on, now.”

He smiled a little, turning to the doctor with a grateful look, “Elizabeth—”

“It’s Mac,” the doctor responded automatically then almost looked sheepish when she caught herself. “Go on, Jonathon. We’ll be fine here.”

He gave her a peculiar look, almost smiling then nodded. He gave Phryne one last kiss in her hair before escorting Dot out. Once she was sure they were gone, the smile dropped from the injured woman’s face and she finally let go enough for the pained expression to make its appearance. Her spine seemed to loosen and her body seemed to settle heavier on the bed with a groan. Mac was ready though, prepping anesthesia for her but Phryne shook her head vehemently once she saw what she was doing.

“No, Mac, I don’t want it.”

“What? Phryne, you can’t keep picking and choosing what treatment you get,” Mac groused. “You’ve been shot and have caused significant delays to your own needs. Must you be so difficult?”

“I don’t want to be knocked out!” Phryne insisted, the mutinous expression returning on her face. “Stitch me up and clean me up, do it. But I won’t be knocked out!”

“Phryne—”

“I don’t want it, Mac!”

The doctor was confused—while there were times Phryne could be difficult when it came to treatment, she had never quite seen her have such an adverse reaction to anything that was absolutely necessary. More often than not, it really was just a game, a way to lighten the mood on such drab occasions. Phryne trusted Mac implicitly and never would once think she would insist on anything that was not absolutely medically necessary.

“Phryne, what—”

She received an almost vicious look, something she’d never been on the receiving end of from this particular friend. Mac wasn’t scared, knowing Phryne as well as she did, but she was surprised. She put the medical equipment down, placing her hands in front of her to show her she would not be moving against her wishes any longer. Phryne stopped, her face relaxing and a look of remorse coming over her face, her shoulders slumped.

“I’m sorry,” she almost whispered, turning her head away for a moment. “I’m sorry, Mac. I just…please, don’t make me do that.”

“What’s the matter, hmm?” Mac asked gently. “You’ve never opposed such things before.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Try again,” the doctor prodded calmly. “This isn’t like you and I want to know why.”

“Hmm...they used the same thing to knock us out,” Phryne almost shuddered, adjusting herself on the bed with a slight wince. “It was…too much. The…smell still lingers. Please, Mac?” She bit her bottom lip, “I know you need to do stitches…I’ll do without. Give me something to bite down on. I’ve seen it done.”

The doctor stared at her for a moment and shook her head, internally musing about the finer points of the profession and why they were usually not allowed to treat family in such situations. She went to one of the cabinets in the room, unlocking it and took out a box which she also unlocked. She took one small vial out and brought out a syringe with her, filling it with the right amount of dosage necessary and showed it to Phryne.

“You’re not biting down on anything. I know you’re not allergic to cocaine. Will that do?”

Phryne nodded, eyes watering which she stubbornly wiped away. “Yes, yes. That will do. You won’t…?”

“This will be localized,” Mac said with a calmer tone. “It’ll numb the area and then we’ll be able to get to work. You’re bleeding all over my bed. Honestly, Phryne, the mess you make!”

“I just poured thousands of pounds into this hospital, I think I’m entitled to at least one of these?” Phryne said, smiling a little and gave her dearest friend a soft look. “Thank you, Mac.”

“Anytime, you spoiled rotten thing,” the doctor smirked. She motioned the nurse forward and yanked the curtain closed around the bed, giving the expectant male doctor a sharp look before essentially shutting him out. They both helped Phryne sit up a little, being as careful as possible and slowly peeled off the heavy coat she had been keeping tightly wrapped around her body. 

The nurse paled instantly when the torn dirty French silk camisole was revealed, the already low neckline ripped in one place, revealing something that looked appallingly like teeth marks on the top of one breast. Mac kept her face stoic, the only sign of her own distress being the subtle clenching of her sharp jaw and the deep lines along her brow. There were bruises along Phryne’s collarbone and arms but the worst were her wrists, only revealed when the heavy men’s coat had been completely removed, the pale skin lined with a number of deep angry rope burns caked in drying blood. The doctor has seen enough in her lifetime to recognize the amount of damage done but she kept her lips tightly shut, breathing through her flaring nostrils and wordlessly urged the steadily horrified young nurse to continue with the task.

Both women helped Phryne turn on her side as carefully as possible to give the doctor better access to the damaged area of her hip. The injured aristocrat didn’t say a word throughout the process though there was a telling pinch to her brow. The silk covering her modesty was certainly beyond repair and would need to be removed. Assisted by the nurse, Mac cut the lower half away with the cool detachment required of her, leaving her patient appropriately covered by sterile white sheets and leaving only the injury visible. A separate sheet was procured by the nurse, tucking them around the upper half of the silent patient carefully with trembling fingers.

Once Phryne was properly settled, Mac dismissed the girl wordlessly though not unkindly. The younger woman only hesitated for a moment before nodding meekly and disappearing through the curtains. The doctor glanced behind her, pushing the flowing barrier slightly open and noting the flummoxed doctor that had been left out. He looked expectant, almost eager, to finally be given his turn.

Mac motioned towards the doors, “If you would please step out for a moment? Miss Fisher will need her privacy.”

As expected, he looked beyond dumbfounded at the instruction, “I really think I should stay, Dr. MacMillan—in case you need some assis—”

The woman tried not to roll her eyes, “It’s a simple stitch, Dr. Thompson. I believe I’m quite capable enough.”

“Of course, but—”

Mac shot the young doctor a scathing look which immediately caused him to freeze once more before scurrying out of the room without a backwards glance. The doors closed behind him, leaving the two women alone. Mac gave Phryne a small smirk and reached for the needle, giving her a confirming look before administering the anesthetic.

The raven haired maven breathed through the stinging pricks of the needle, screwing her eyes shut. Mac couldn’t help but flinch herself, noting the damage and the bloody mess it left behind.

“Doesn’t look deep,” the doctor observed, taking a closer look and prodded the area very gently with a gloved finger. “Small caliber, I think. Any idea who shot you?”

“Oh, I know who shot me,” Phryne groaned, burying her head sideways on the pillow underneath her. “Sidney Fletcher. I knocked him down but the coward got a cheap shot in…a rather poor one at that.”

Mac felt the white-hot anger flow through her, “That rat-faced little…he shot you?”

“After I beat him bloody,” the proud aristocrat smirked tiredly. “He’s not much of a fighter.”

Mac sighed, examining the wound as she waited for the anesthetic to take full effect. She looked at Phryne, noting the bruised cheekbone and the various other small and easily manageable injuries. She took some comfort that for tonight, they only had a flesh wound to contend with. She gave her friend a passive glance, “I thought you weren’t doing any detecting?”

“I wasn’t,” Phryne said earnestly, tucking a pillow under her head and hung on to it. “I was at a party at Aunt P’s house, if you can believe it. Her scullery maid heard something she shouldn’t and somehow made her way to me. Turns out it was Fletcher talking to someone and they decided they needed to shut both of us up in case she’d told me what she heard.”

“So, it’s true…you were missing for a whole day?”

“Was it only just a whole day?” Phryne asked hollowly, looking a little lost. She rubbed her temple with her fingers, frowning. “It felt longer…even while I was unconscious, it felt longer.”

“That’s not surprising, considering the ordeal you must’ve gone through.”

Mac prepared what she would need to close the wound and put it aside. She checked the damaged skin once more, seeing if Phryne would react and found herself suitably satisfied when the younger woman didn’t seem to notice being touched at all. She cleaned the area, keeping her eyes sharp to make sure she would get everything properly prepped. Normally, she would have a nurse with her but she noticed Phryne wasn’t having the best reaction to having strangers around her so she chose to do it on her own. She cleaned and prepared the area, working efficiently with sure but careful hands, moving through her tasks with a calm flow despite the emotions running through her that she was not quite ready to face yet.

All in all, the blood seemed to just make everything seem more horrifyingly worse than they actually were. The gunshot wound was clean and not at all deep, managing to cause only minimal damage. The bleeding could have been stemmed easily if there was a field medic on site and it wouldn’t have been such a bloody mess. 

“I’m going to start,” Mac said in an even tone. “I will need you to stay still, alright?”

Phryne sighed and focused on a single point on the stark white walls, “I’m not going anywhere.”

“It’s not deep at all, but I bet it hurt a lot,” Mac said after a moment, beginning to work with skilled precision. “I’m sorry, Phryne. I didn’t know something had happened. Your aunt called looking for you but she never said if anything was wrong.”

“She probably didn’t know,” Phryne responded. “It was all very sudden…I didn’t even see it coming. Takes a lot to take me by surprise, as you should well know.”

“I do,” the doctor nodded, keeping her eyes on her work. She worked silently for a moment, biting the inside of her cheek as she mulled over how to address her next inquiry. “Phryne, the…bruising. The ones on your…anything you want to tell me? It won’t leave this room. I just need to know what we need to be working on here.”

“Nothing…it’s nothing,” Phryne breathed, closing her eyes. “It’s nothing to be concerned about.”

“But—” Mac was careful not to be so pushy, glancing at the bruises she couldn’t help but have her attention drawn to. “They look like finger marks, Phryne.”

“That’s because they were made by fingers,” she said dully, keeping her focus on that single point only she could determine. “But it never got that far…nothing of the sort happened. I wouldn’t lie to you about that.”

She had told Mac everything her French lover had done to her, every sordid detail of the whole sorry tale. The bastard hadn’t exactly held back as he was unravelling in the last days of their doomed romance and Phryne had come straight to Mac to find solace the moment she broke free. Out of the very few people who knew the story, Mac had been the closest and got through the last bits of it with her. These were not the kinds of secrets Phryne would keep from her and she knew this. The doctor took comfort in that, knowing that her best friend trusted her enough to not keep such things from her. 

Mac blinked a few times, breathing out with some relief. She gave Phryne an understanding look, “So…an internal examination isn’t necessary?”

“No,” Phryne replied. “I didn’t let him get that far.”

The doctor frowned as she returned her focus onto her work once more, “What do you mean you didn’t let him—”

“I killed him.”

Mac’s head shot up, her hands freezing in place mid-stitch. She looked at her best friend to see if she was serious but she sat there with an unnervingly blank look on her face, eyes looking a little lost but otherwise calm with no sign of oncoming hysterics at all. Mac tried to find something akin to after-effect, trying to find a tremor in her fingers or uncertainty in her tired blue eyes but there was nothing. Phryne simply laid against the pillows with her sharp blue eyes trained on the wall, unmoving but very much there.

“It was self-defense,” the doctor finally said, getting back to her work. “You did nothing wrong.”

“How are you so certain?”

“You’re not a killer,” Mac answered simply as if it was solid fact, carefully pulling one of the last stitches through delicate skin. This would be her neatest work, taking the best possible care to mend the tears and try to leave as little possibility of scarring as she could manage. “You’re a fighter, but not a killer. You’ll defend the people you care about to the death, even if it means your own, but you would never seek out to hurt anyone. If you killed him…I’m sure the bastard deserved it.”

Phryne blinked back tears, “It was…he was trying to—I couldn’t just let it happen. I couldn’t make it that easy for him to—” she closed her eyes for a moment, letting out a shaky breath. “He’s gone…he won’t…he’s gone.”

If Mac noticed that she sounded like she was trying to convince herself of this more than her, she didn’t mention it. Instead, she concentrated on her work. For a moment, she considered her words, being as careful with them as the repair she was trying to accomplish. She didn’t need a degree in studies of the mind to understand that Phryne was still processing things, still trying to come to grips with her ordeal.

“I understand,” she said, giving her the most comforting look she could give. She would have held her if she could, but she wanted to put Phryne back together as quickly as possible so she could begin to heal. They had never dealt with anything this badly before but Mac knew the sooner she could process what happened, the sooner she would be able to move on from it and get on the path to recovery. “You did nothing wrong.”

Phryne swallowed the lump in her throat, “They had girls on that ship. To sell.”

Mac felt her blood run cold, “Then I’m glad you killed one of them.”

“I don’t know if they got the girls…I was so tired and-and I was just…” Phryne breathed out, her agitation growing as her anxiety began to mount once more. “Mac, what if they didn’t find them? I let Joan go. I never saw her again. I don’t know where she went—I should’ve stayed with her but I couldn’t risk letting Fletcher get to her. What was I thinking leaving, I—”

“Phryne, love, I’m sure they were able to find the girls,” Mac said reassuringly, speaking in soothing tones to try and get her back into a calmer state. She was starting to move but Mac wasn’t finished yet and she worried her agitation might undo the work she was so delicately trying to accomplish. “Concentrate on yourself for now, alright? Just for now. We’re almost finished. We’ll fix the rest after, alright?”

“Those poor girls—”

“—will be alright, they will be found,” Mac cut through her anxiety gently, patting her on one covered leg with a calming warm hand. “You did what you had to do, Phryne. I know you. You would have done everything to save them…and I am sure you did.”

“The police—I think…” she stopped, her words hesitant and almost too quiet. “I think the inspector was there.”

“I’m sure he was,” Mac said, tamping down the slight bitterness she felt that Jack might have known Phryne was missing and didn’t even see fit to inform her. She knew he was more than aware of how important she was to her and yet, he still kept her out. “If he was there then you know he will see it through. You trust him, don’t you?”

There was silence for a moment before a response was quietly breathed out, “Always.”

o0o

Even knowing Phryne was safe and being tended to, they knew their night was far from over.

Dot and Jonathon just barely made it into the safe and welcoming warmth of Wardlow before being accosted at the doors by a frazzled Prudence Stanley. She had been understandably horrified to see the blood on Jonathon’s button down and the smears on Dot’s gray coat, barely holding it together as she stood there at the threshold, assuming the very worst. It had taken everything they had to calmly explain to Prudence that Phryne was alright and under the expert care of Mac herself at the hospital. Poor Mr. Butler, who himself had gone slightly pale at the sight of them and what it could have meant, obviously had questions but he was the consummate professional and would not dare test the bounds of propriety around his employer’s aunt. 

Jonathon had let himself step into the line of fire, letting Dot head up to her rooms quickly as to avoid having the young woman overwhelmed even more than she already had been that night. He stood there in the parlor, still and ever patient, listening to Prudence’s unusual thought still quite probably reasonable amount of histrionics. Discreetly, Mr. Butler slipped a tumbler of amber liquid in his hand, giving him a knowing look which he returned with a grateful light in his eyes.

He had barely managed to land properly in the wingback chair by the lit fireplace, waiting for the older woman to calm long enough to figure out which questions she wanted answered first and when. He drank the whiskey, savoring the smoky amber that burned its way down his throat, letting it wake his tired bones that had mistaken this brief respite as the time for slumber. He hadn’t had too much of a go on the ship, finding that most of the men he encountered had not exactly been skilled fighters and Bert the brawler had proven to be quite the reliable partner to have on such occasion.

The discussion with Prudence had been meandering, keeping his tone even and reassuring, until he was sure he had gotten through to her. She was shattered, that much was clear, and it was taking everything in her not to rush to the hospital to see for herself but Jonathon had wisely kept her from doing so. Phryne would surely return home soon and being bombarded, no matter how well-intentioned, would only surely impede this goal. It was best to wait until she was able to convince Mac to let her go home, at least then they would know she would be fit enough to visit and accept the outpouring of concern and affection.

Wisely, he decided not to mention the aspect of the story where Phryne had been shot, merely explaining that someone had abducted her, Joan and the driver Mr. Pierce. They did not know why as of yet but he was sure Phryne would tell them eventually once able. The police were involved and there were more girls that had been abducted and there were likely people Prudence herself may be acquainted with that might be involved in the matter. 

This particular nugget of information seemed to get to the old aristocrat the most, wondering who on earth would be involved in something so atrocious and would be brazen enough to try and hurt her niece. The shattered look on her mien easily dissipated, only to be replaced spectacularly by a thunderous expression that did not bode well for anyone who might be found guilty of such atrocities. Prudence was scandalized and appropriately incensed, affronted at the thought that it might be someone in her circle who could have gone after Phryne and tried to hurt her. In a mere matter of seconds, the concern was taken away by the tides of anger and indignation.

By the time Dot had returned downstairs, having washed and changed into a fresh set of clothes and a small travel case in hand containing everything her mistress might need, Prudence was already on a spectacular stretch of tirade, running names in her mind and trying to figure out just who was responsible for the night’s anguish. She offered to take Jonathon’s place who welcomed the offer, more than ready to get out of his bloodied clothes. He would have a quick change and wash, gather himself in that time, and head back to the hospital. He hoped they would be able to take Phryne home, knowing how much she would hate to be stuck in those sterile walls. She would want to be in the safety of the people who cared for her and the warm and familiar environment.

He summoned Mr. Butler with him who followed easily, inquiring upon his needs. Jonathon didn’t linger, explaining quickly to the older man what had occurred and what to expect once they are able take their mistress home. Jonathon found it easier to be more honest with Mr. Butler, knowing he could count on him not to let himself be overwhelmed by his emotional reaction. He had also seen how torn the man was, straining to listen, trying to get information about what happened and if there was more to the story being told.

It had helped, telling the butler what he could not tell Prudence, answering questions he dared not ask. The relief the man felt was obvious, his features softening and the tightness around his eyes disappearing. Their beloved mistress was hurt and would need time to recover, but she was alive and on the mend which was a blessing in itself. He thanked Jonathon with as much emotion he could manage to show and informed him he would prepare some suitable and delicious nourishment for their patient. 

Left on his own, Jonathon shed his clothes quickly. He tossed the bloodied shirt in the bin, his pants in the hamper and his stained knife on the desk. He unstrapped a small gun from his ankle, slipped out a dagger from the other and deposited both in a drawer to be cleaned at a later time. He went straight for the washroom, hurriedly cleaning himself and making sure to get every bit off blood off of him. 

There was only the fragrant soap from France provided by the household but he’d managed to procure something more suitable for such needs in his luggage. He washed first with the more abrasive soap, used to its stronger properties but trusting it more to remove the stains of battle then washed a second time with the fragrant soap that soothed the skin after such vigorous cleaning. He got out once he was satisfied with himself and dressed quickly, noting his lack of enough shirts and taking note to send for some.

Dressed in fresh trousers, a white button-down and a clean tan coat, Jonathon headed back down to the parlor. Bert and Dot were there, seated with a relatively calmer Prudence Stanley. They were in deep discussion and it seemed more that the old battleaxe was back to her commanding self, informing the household of what to expect in the days to come. The two listened on, Dot more so than the wandering Bert, who was immediately more alert upon seeing him. The red-ragger had changed into a clean shirt but kept his coat, looking washed himself most likely by a none-too gentle prodding from Dot.

“I think we’ll take the Hispano for now,” Jonathon said to Bert who nodded readily.

“Yeah, I’ll go back to Port and grab Cec,” Bert muttered. “Alice’ll tan my hide me if he doesn’t come home tonight. She’s been in a right state since she found out Miss Fisher’s got herself in a pickle.”

“I beg your pardon?” Prudence huffed. “Mr. Jonhson—”

“She’s fine, ma’am,” the red-ragger waved her off. “Just gotta get everyone home, alright? Same goes to you.”

“I’m waiting for Phryne to come home,” the older woman responded stubbornly. “You lot have done your part, now I shall do mine. That girl is very dear to me.”

“She won’t be happy if she finds out you’re out here staying up late and getting yourself sick with worry,” the gruff man pointed out. “You gonna bring more trouble than help.”

Prudence huffed in indignation, “I’m sure Mr. Butler can prepare suitable arrangements for me.”

“And what about Arthur in the morning, eh?” he raised a critical eyebrow at her. “He ain’t gonna settle for breakfast if you’re not home.”

“Oh…oh, well,” that seemed to make her balk. “I shall call and—”

“She’s fine, Mrs. Stanley,” he muttered, settling a calming hand over her shoulder. “Go home, yeah? I can take you if you want, but you gotta go home. You can visit tomorrow, but you need sleep.”

Jonathon marveled at the exchange, noting that neither Dot nor Mr. Butler seemed surprise by this particular interaction. He could not help but be amused, seeing Prudence Stanley giving in to someone as common and as ragged like Bert the brawler. This was not something he could have ever guessed, seeing the formidable Stanley widow forming a bond with the gruff commie.

Prudence looked ready to argue, a slightly put out expression on her face, before nodding slowly. She gave Bert a searching look, her eyes tired and a little sad. “You’re sure she’s alright?”

“She was kicking everyone outta the room at St. Jude’s,” Bert responded easily. “I’m sure you’ll hear all about it from your hospital friends. Your niece is a pain in the arse, Miss. Just like you. No way some ruddy git’s gonna put her outta commission, eh?”

Prudence smiled a little, her chin lifting ever so slightly, “Well, you aren’t wrong about that…but must you curse?”

The commie smirked, “Arthur does.”

“Albert Johnson! If you’ve been teaching my Arthur—”

“Yeah, yeah, come on,” Bert helped her out of her seat, chuckling under his breath as the woman continued her toothless threats about his bad influence on her adored son. He shot Jonathon a look, nodding towards the main doors as he and Mr. Butler escorted the flushed Stanley widow, letting out a spectacular lecture on what was proper and what wasn’t up until the red-ragger deposited her in her vehicle and waved her off.

“She likes him,” Jonathon marveled, standing by the window as he watched the whole thing unfold. “Prudence Stanley and Bert…now isn’t that something to write home about?”

Dot smiled a little, “Bert’s not so bad…he goes to Mrs. Stanley’s house sometimes to spend time with Arthur. Sometimes she lets them take him to pubs and places where he can singalong with friendlier crowds.” She tilted her head to the side, “Not that it would be a problem. Arthur will always be safe with Cec and Bert. They beat on anyone who isn’t nice to him.”

Jonathon smiled a little, “Phryne really has found a way to glue this little found family of hers together, hasn’t she?”

o0o

It had been Dot’s request to stop by the station before going back to the hospital.

Jonathon had been reluctant, not wanting to delay returning to Phryne but Dot had reasoned that maybe by then they would have found Joan. If they had then they would at least be able to give her an update and assure her that the girl was alright. It would bring Phryne the much-needed peace of mind she deserved, seeing how troubled she was by the girl’s unknown fate. By that logic, Jonathon could hardly argue and directed the red and silver motorcar towards the City South Police Station.

They were not too far from seeing dawn, but even then the unusual nighttime activity was clear. There more a lot of vehicles parked out in front, several police officers coming in and out wearing their full uniforms and looking far too alert. Surprisingly, there were still no evident signs of possible reporters though they would surely come soon enough once they get wind of all the players involved in this particular saga.

Jonathon parked out front and stayed in the car, telling Dot he would wait while she made her inquiries. She hurried off, holding on to her hat and dashed up towards the doors to the station. She encountered a few officers, some of them surprised by her presence and some not so much. The desk sergeant directed her towards the back that involved a short walk she knew so well she could easily do so in pitch darkness, stopping short only once she realized what was unfolding in front of her.

Dot had been expecting Hugh, enmeshed in work and probably a little troubled after everything that had happened but that wasn’t the case. What she arrived to, instead, was an altogether different scene and one, admittedly, she did not at all imagine ever walking into.

There was Jack Robinson, standing to one side of the room, a sobbing woman in his arms, cradling her against him with a look on his face Dot could not quite decipher. At first, she could not tell who the woman was but she slipped back into a corner where she could not be seen, feeling as if she was intruding on an intimate moment. The sobbing woman clung to the inspector like he was her only lifeline, crying so terribly, Dot felt it in her soul. She wanted to look away, to go and find Hugh and get the answers she needed but she found she could not tear her eyes away from the scene playing out.

His hands were buried in her hair, the dark curls slipping between his fingers and her fingers were buried in the fabric of his suit. They stood close, far too close for people who only met, so Dot surmised they knew each other well. He held her in a way Dot had never seen him hold any woman, noticing how there was no sign of awkwardness or reluctance, no concern for distance or propriety. It was a tight embrace between two people who knew each other well and cared deeply for one another, which was what kept Dot in place, unable to look away, eyes wide and her mouth slightly open in surprise. 

There were words spoken, words she could not hear, but she saw the way the inspector’s mouth moved against the woman’s hair, his eyes soft and his hands gentle even as the distraught woman fought. He held on to her, holding her to him and whispering words to her only they could hear.

Dot felt something inside her constrict, a lump forming in her throat. She didn’t know what it was but she felt a wave of emotion come through her, wondering if perhaps her own soul was responding to the gut-wrenching heartbreak that this woman was feeling. Her brow furrowed, her hands clenching slightly and she felt a hot flush run through her body. She could not look away, could not help but stare so rudely, captivated by the unknown that was unfolding in front of her. She had never quite seen Jack Robinson so comfortable with a woman, so easily hold a woman as he was doing and somehow, that made Dot feel things she could not understand in that moment.

She resolved to look away, scolding herself for her lack of decency when the woman finally pulled away, turning away from Jack but still reaching up to grab onto his hand, clinging tightly as if she was scared to let go. He took out a handkerchief and gave it to her, saying something which made her smile a little as he did as well. When the woman turned to wipe her tears away, Dot could not stop herself from looking just to see who she was.

Finding out who the woman Jack Robinson was holding so dearly was, to say the least, quite surprising. Dot easily recognized her, remembering her from that one case from months ago. She hadn’t really met her but she had seen her, having a brief exchange with Phryne at the footy match. She had asked her mistress then who the beautiful woman with the dark hair was and she’d simply replied it was the inspector’s former wife. Dot jogged her memory for a name, trying to recall, but found she could not. But she was sure Phryne had said former, she was sure of that as Hugh himself had mentioned several times that his boss was definitely no longer a married man. 

Why he would stand in the middle of his own police station, holding her so intimately for all to see without seeming a care in the world other than providing her solace, Dot wasn’t sure. But it made her feel things and she immediately turned away, pursing her small pink lips and setting her jaw. She could not understand but a wave of emotion rushed through her and she found herself pushing through the small crowd of officers, wanting nothing more than to get out of the building. She was so caught up, trying to decide if she wanted to understand why she felt the way she did or leave it be, when she heard someone call her name.

Dot almost ignored it but stopped short when she realized it was Hugh, pushing through the throng and waving at her. He had a look of utter relief on his face, reaching for her and holding her the moment she was within arm’s reach. Dot only realized then how worried she had been for him, having not seen him on the boat but knowing he had been as Bert had told her. She held on, for once not caring who could see, feeling the utter relief that flooded her and could not help but smile as she held him to her, solidly and very much safe.

“Oh, Dottie! I was so worried!”

“Worried? You were the one on that ship! Are you alright, Hugh?” she breathed into his uniform, feeling his hand in her hair and his arms wrap warmly around her. 

“Fine, fine!” he said, pulling back with a slight tinge of red on his cheeks. He looked both sheepish and happy, only then realizing he had probably acted too rashly being so public with their affection that way. He took a step back, leaving a more respectable distance between them. “We got them all, Dottie. Everyone’s safe!”

“That’s good—that means you found Joan?” she looked expectant.

“Yes, yes, we did,” Hugh nodded vigorously. “I can’t talk about the case, but she’s there—we’re just taking her statement then we’ll figure out what to do with her tonight. And those other girls.”

Dot smiled proudly, “You found them all? The other girls?”

“Yes,” the young constable confirmed. “They’re all here. They’re safe…” he hesitated for a moment, “And what-what about Miss Fisher? She’s alright, isn’t she?”

Dot stopped, this time it was her turn to hesitate, “She is under the care of Dr. MacMillan.”

“Oh,” Hugh croaked. “I…there were things said in the interviews but I can’t—it’s an open investigation, you -understand, so I can’t—”

“I understand,” she nodded. “Everyone’s alright…that’s all that matters.”

Hugh looked torn, a little sad. “I’m sorry…about tonight. For not believing you.”

“I’m sorry I stole from you,” she responded, looking contrite. “That was awful of me.”

“No, no, no…no, Dottie,” Hugh said, reaching for her hand and squeezed gently. “It helped…I was being stubborn. I wish you didn’t have to do that, but…you were worried and with good reason. Forgive me for not believing you.”

“If you forgive me for playing a dirty trick on you,” she offered with a smile. “You are a good policeman, Hugh.”

“And you…you are amazing, Dottie,” Hugh breathed, looking utterly besotted and completely unashamed to show it. “Are you going home? I can take you, I just—”

“Oh, no,” Dot shook her head. “I’m taking some things to the hospital for Miss Fisher…some essentials, you see. Mr. Lofthouse is waiting in the motorcar.”

Hugh nodded, “Oh…well, alright. Be careful, yeah? And try to sleep. It’s been a long night.”

“Longer for you,” Dot said simply, squeezing his hand. “Are you alright? I have some coffee outside, I can get it for you and—”

“No, no, don’t worry about me,” Hugh laughed a little. “I’m alright. The drinks here are not nearly as nice as yours but they’ll do. Miss Fisher needs you, I’m sure.”

Dot nodded, “I’ll see you…tomorrow?”

“Of course,” Hugh smiled. “I’m really glad you came, Dottie.”

“So am I,” she gave him one last lingering look before turning away and leaving, heading out the doors and back into the night. Dot could not help the smile on her face, happy to see her beloved was well and unharmed. It was hard, knowing what Hugh did for a living and what dangers it entailed, but he was a good policeman and a very smart man and as much as Dot would have wished his chosen profession wasn’t so dangerous, she would never discourage him from it. He was a proud member of the constabulary and Dot knew no finer man could wear the uniform quite like her Hugh.

Catching sight of the idling motorcar, Dot crossed the street, smiling to herself. She quickened her steps, glad to have accomplished what she came for only to remember what she had witnessed.

Her steps faltered just as she reached the curb, her mind flashing back to that moment just as she turned to look when Hugh had called her name. She remembered the expression on his face, one of relief but also heavy with concern and obvious care, of someone who had just been relieved of fears and burden. Her mind’s eye returned to Jack Robinson as he held his former wife, remembering how similar the expression on his face had been. There was more concern etched into his features and some heaviness but it was not too different from how Hugh had looked. She wasn’t surprised to see that on her beloved’s face—they were inextricably bound and there were very deep feelings between them, but on Jack’s face while holding the woman he was supposed to no longer have any attachments to? Well, that was surprising, to say the least. 

Dot felt the flush of emotion again, her cheeks pinking slightly and her jaw setting just a smidge. She shook her head at herself, reminding herself she had no business looking where she should not have been to begin with. She had violated the privacy of two people who were obviously sharing a deeply intimate moment and she had been rude to stare. Still, it lingered in her mind even when she willed it not to. Jack Robinson was not someone she would consider emotional or truly demonstrative of, well, anything. He was a very self-aware man and quite a master at containing his emotions, which is what made him quite the exceptional detective he was.

So to be witness to such open emotion on his face, well, that was a rarity Dot never knew she would ever witness. But was it such a surprise? The man was certainly not made out of stone, much as he tries, and his wife was distraught for some reason or the other. What this meant other than what was seen on the surface, the young lady’s companion was not sure, but it stuck out in her curious mind. But then, if she ever imagined Jack Robinson showing any emotion or affection or any inclination towards anything other than work, Dot would have been so sure it would be concerning someone else and certainly not the woman who had divorced him.

Biting the inside of her cheek, Dot could not help the furrow in her brow. So much had happened that night but some points were now making themselves stick out and she started to draw her own conclusions upon them, building on the information not just from that night but the months that had passed. There have been so many unanswered questions, so many thoughts lingering and she was beginning to wonder if perhaps she had just stumbled upon the last missing piece of the puzzle that had left them all quite dumbfounded. 

She hadn’t wanted to find out this way and if she were truly honest with herself, which she was unfailingly so, this was not the conclusion to the mystery that she was looking for. But it explained so much and filled in the blanks left in the confounding months that had passed. Dot felt her heart constrict once more, feeling a wave of sadness wash over her. Well, she thought with some trepidation, that’s that.

“Miss Williams?”

Dot looked up, pulled out of her meshing thoughts. She fixed a pleasant look upon her face, noting the concern on the face of the tall aristocrat under the streetlamp. Jonathon Lofthouse stood by the open door of the motorcar, one hand carefully reached out in her direction though at a very respectable distance.

“Are you alright?” his tone was kind, tiredness laced in his voice but held no sign of irritation at the delay she was causing him. He was undeniably kind, this man, she thought.

“Yes, yes, I am,” she responded, making her feet move towards the motorcar. “I’m sorry for the delay—but it was not for nothing. They got all the girls—Joan included. They’re alright!”

“Splendid!” he looked utterly relieved by this though it was clearly not for his own sake. He moved around the vehicle and opened the door for her. “That will help Phryne feel so much better. Good call!”

Dot beamed and slipped into the passenger seat, thanking him for the kind gesture. “We should be alright returning to the hospital now. Miss Fisher will be pleased.”

“Absolutely,” Jonathon said as he manipulated the machine under his expert hands, the engine rumbling along steadily. He kept his eyes on the road as they moved along, alert though not necessarily going over the speed limit. “Thank you, Dot. You bring Phryne peace in ways you probably do not realize.”

“It’s nothing...really.”

Jonathon tilted his head slightly to one side though he did not look at her, “She cares very much for you but you obviously do as well. You’ve become quite an important member of her family…and I don’t fail to see why.”

“Miss Fisher’s kindness has been without limits,” Dot said simply. “I try to repay that kindness with just as much generosity and care.”

“And you do—in so many little ways you don’t even realize you do,” Jonathon seemed rather at ease speaking so candidly with her and she could hear the fondness in his voice. “I don’t think I’ve ever come across someone as genuinely kind as you. That is quite a privilege to be bestowed.”

“You are far too kind, Mr. Lofthouse,” Dot responded, unable to help the flush on her cheeks though this time they were for more pleasant reasons.

“One day I should find the words to thank you for taking care of Phryne as you have,” he chuckled lightly. “Not that she needs it but there is nothing wrong being in the constant company of good people. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I do,” Dot smiled, feeling a wave of affection for the tired but unusually engaging man. 

She knew Mr. Butler and their guest had formed some kind of camaraderie that involved their shared fascination with the mechanics of the Hispano Suiza and some stories from the war. Cec and Bert seemed to get along with him well enough but she herself could not claim to have had such an opportunity to get to know the wandering Briton. She had no doubt he was a good person, that he cared deeply for their mistress but apart from the size of his shirts and the length of his trousers and what he took in his tea, she didn’t really know much about the man.

To see a glimpse into this stranger, in this side of him that was so open and welcoming, Dot found it quite nice. He was obviously tired, wrecked with concern over what happened but he had not once shown any impatience or irritation in the delays of his desire to return to Phryne as soon as possible. He had been, as ever, patient as he was and always kept Phryne at the forefront of his mind. It was quite endearing, seeing how utterly lost he was when it came to the flighty heiress but seeing the positive changes he brought about being around Phryne, well, Dot could not deny his effect.

From what she had seen tonight, a part of Dot was beginning to think that maybe Jonathon Lofthouse had been sent to the Antipodes guided by God’s grace for a reason. Be it by the way of a drunk cousin or something else entirely, the fervent young woman was starting to see the purpose of this blessing. She had had her hopes, ones she dared not express with anyone but she was beginning to think she had been mistaken, that she had been hoping for something that turned out to be nothing. 

She had thought that someone else had been set in Phryne’s path and should so deserved to be there, but what if she was mistaken? Paperwork could dissolve a lot of contracts but vows made in the eyes of the Lord were beyond the realms of men and thus let no man tear asunder so maybe she had misunderstood everything. Dot did not mind being wrong if it meant ensuring happiness to a woman who more than deserved it in her eyes. It was certainly less complicated if it turned out Phryne’s fate was set with someone else’s who was not quite so encumbered. Still, as long as she was happy Dot was willing to lend support with anything—anyone—she chose.

Not that it undid anything that she learned from Father Grogan and the many that came before him. She would go to confession, she decided. That would certainly help and she was sure this new development would be better received than ones that were shared in previous times. She never did quite feel disapproval radiate through the screen quite as much as when she alluded to her mistress’ colorful lifestyle. 

Looking out into the open window, Dot whispered a prayer into the night for clarity, protection and healing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delayed update again—between the US elections and kicking off my birthday week, safe to say I have been one distracted little puppy. I thought we were keeping things local but apparently my husband has other ideas so we’re not in our home country at the moment. I hope this chapter was worth the wait!


End file.
